THE TRAGEDY OF KING LEAR - THE FOLIO TEXT

THE TRAGEDY OF KING LEAR THE FOLIO TEXT THE text of King Lear given here represents the revision made probably three or four years after the first version had been written and performed; it is based on the text printed in the 1623 Folio. This is the more obviously theatrical text. It makes a number of significant cuts, amounting to some 300 lines. The most conspicuous ones are the dialogue in which Lear’s Fool implicitly calls his master a fool (Quarto Sc. 4, 136―51); Kent’s account of the French invasion of England (Quarto Sc. 8, 21―33); Lear’s mock-trial, in his madness, of his daughters (Quarto Sc. 13, 13―52); Edgar’s generalizing couplets at the end of that scene (Quarto Sc. 13, 97―110); the brief, compassionate dialogue of two of Gloucester’s servants after his blinding (Quarto Sc. 14, 97―106); parts of Albany’s protest to Goneril about the sisters’ treatment of Lear (in Quarto Sc. 16); the entire scene (Quarto Sc. 17) in which a Gentleman tells Kent of Cordelia’s grief on hearing of her father’s condition; the presence of the Doctor and the musical accompaniment to the reunion of Lear and Cordelia (Quarto Sc. 21); and Edgar’s account of his meeting with Kent in which Kent’s ’strings of life | Began to crack’ (Quarto Sc. 24, 201―18). The Folio also adds about 100 lines that are not in the Quarto—mostly in short passages, including Kent’s statement that Albany and Cornwall have servants who are in the pay of France (3.1.13―20), Merlin’s prophecy spoken by the Fool at the end of 3.2, and the last lines of both the Fool and Lear. In addition, several speeches are differently assigned, and there are many variations in wording. The reasons for these variations, and their effect on the play, are to some extent matters of speculation and of individual interpretation. Certainly they streamline the play’s action, removing some reflective passages, particularly at the ends of scenes. They affect the characterization of, especially, Edgar, Albany, and Kent, and there are significant differences in the play’s closing passages. Structurally the principal differences lie in the presentation of the military actions in the later part of the play; in the Folio-based text Cordelia is more clearly in charge of the forces that come to Lear’s assistance, and they are less clearly a French invasion force. The absence from this text of passages that appeared in the 1608 text implies no criticism of them in themselves. The play’s revision may have been dictated in whole or in part by theatrical exigencies, or it may have emerged from Shakespeare’s own dissatisfaction with what he had first written. Each version has its own integrity, which is distorted by the practice, traditional since the early eighteenth century, of conflation. THE PERSONS OF THE PLAY LEAR, King of Britain GONERIL, Lear’s eldest daughter Duke of ALBANY, her husband

REGAN, Lear’s second daughter Duke of CORNWALL, her husband CORDELIA, Lear’s youngest daughter Earl of KENT, later disguised as Caius Earl of GLOUCESTER

EDGAR, elder son of Gloucester, later disguised as Tom o’ Bedlam EDMOND, bastard son of Gloucester OLD MAN, Gloucester’s tenant CURAN, Gloucester’s retainer

Lear’s FOOL

OSWALD, Goneril’s steward A SERVANT of Cornwall

A KNIGHT

A HERALD

A CAPTAIN

Gentlemen, servants, soldiers, attendants, messengers

The Tragedy of King Lear

Atto 1, Scena 1

Speaker	Line
(didascalia)	Enter the Earl of Kent, the Duke of Gloucester, and Edmond
KENT	I thought the King had more affected the Duke of Albany than Cornwall. GLOUCESTER) It did always seem so to us, but now in the division of the kingdom it appears not which of the Dukes he values most; for qualities are so weighed that curiosity in neither can make choice of either’s moiety.
KENT	Is not this your son, my lord?
GLOUCESTER	His breeding, sir, hath been at my charge. I have so often blushed to acknowledge him that now I am brazed to’t.
KENT	I cannot conceive you.
GLOUCESTER	Sir, this young fellow’s mother could, whereupon she grew round-wombed and had indeed, sir, a son for her cradle ere she had a husband for her bed. Do you smell a fault?
KENT	I cannot wish the fault undone, the issue of it being so proper.
GLOUCESTER	But I have a son, sir, by order of law, some year older than this, who yet is no dearer in my account. Though this knave came something saucily to the world before he was sent for, yet was his mother fair, there was good sport at his making, and the whoreson must be acknowledged. (To Edmond) Do you know this noble gentleman, Edmond?
EDMOND	No, my lord.
GLOUCESTER	(to Edmond) My lord of Kent. Remember him hereafter as my honourable friend.
EDMOND	(to Kent) My services to your lordship.
KENT	I must love you, and sue to know you better.
EDMOND	Sir, I shall study deserving.
GLOUCESTER	(to Kent) He hath been out nine years, and away he shall again.
(didascalia)	Sennet
GLOUCESTER	The King is coming.
(didascalia)	Enter King Lear, the Dukes of Cornwall and Albany, Goneril, Regan, Cordelia, and attendants
LEAR	Attend the lords of France and Burgundy, Gloucester.
GLOUCESTER	I shall, my lord. Exit
LEAR	Meantime we shall express our darker purpose. Give me the map there. Know that we have divided In three our kingdom, and ’tis our fast intent To shake all cares and business from our age, Conferring them on younger strengths while we Unburdened crawl toward death. Our son of Cornwall, And you, our no less loving son of Albany, We have this hour a constant will to publish Our daughters’ several dowers, that future strife May be prevented now. The princes France and Burgundy— Great rivals in our youngest daughter’s love— Long in our court have made their amorous sojourn, And here are to be answered. Tell me, my daughters— Since now we will divest us both of rule, Interest of territory, cares of state— Which of you shall we say doth love us most, That we our largest bounty may extend Where nature doth with merit challenge? Goneril, Our eldest born, speak first.
GONERIL	Sir, I love you more than words can wield the matter; Dearer than eyesight, space, and liberty; Beyond what can be valued, rich or rare, No less than life; with grace, health, beauty, honour; As much as child e’er loved or father found; A love that makes breath poor and speech unable. Beyond all manner of so much I love you.
CORDELIA	(aside) What shall Cordelia speak? Love and be silent.
LEAR	(to Goneril) Of all these bounds even from this line to this, With shadowy forests and with champaigns riched, With plenteous rivers and wide-skirted meads, We make thee lady. To thine and Albany’s issues Be this perpetual.—What says our second daughter? Our dearest Regan, wife of Cornwall?
REGAN	I am made of that self mettle as my sister, And prize me at her worth. In my true heart I find she names my very deed of love— Only she comes too short, that I profess Myself an enemy to all other joys Which the most precious square of sense possesses, And find I am alone felicitate In your dear highness’ love.
CORDELIA	(aside) Then poor Cordelia— And yet not so, since I am sure my love’s More ponderous than my tongue.
LEAR	(to Regan) To thee and thine hereditary ever Remain this ample third of our fair kingdom, No less in space, validity, and pleasure Than that conferred on Goneril. (To Cordelia) Now our joy, Although our last and least, to whose young love The vines of France and milk of Burgundy Strive to be interessed: what can you say to draw A third more opulent than your sisters? Speak.
CORDELIA	Nothing, my lord.
LEAR	Nothing?
CORDELIA	Nothing.
LEAR	Nothing will come of nothing. Speak again.
CORDELIA	Unhappy that I am, I cannot heave My heart into my mouth. I love your majesty According to my bond, no more nor less.
LEAR	How, how, Cordelia? Mend your speech a little Lest you may mar your fortunes.
CORDELIA	Good my lord, You have begot me, bred me, loved me. I return those duties back as are right fit- Obey you, love you, and most honour you. Why have my sisters husbands if they say They love you all? Haply when I shall wed That lord whose hand must take my plight shall carry Half my love with him, half my care and duty. Sure, I shall never marry like my sisters.
LEAR	But goes thy heart with this?
CORDELIA	Ay, my good lord.
LEAR	So young and so untender?
CORDELIA	So young, my lord, and true.
LEAR	Let it be so. Thy truth then be thy dower; For by the sacred radiance of the sun, The mysteries of Hecate and the night, By all the operation of the orbs From whom we do exist and cease to be, Here I disclaim all my paternal care, Propinquity, and property of blood, And as a stranger to my heart and me Hold thee from this for ever. The barbarous Scythian, Or he that makes his generation messes To gorge his appetite, shall to my bosom Be as well neighboured, pitied, and relieved As thou, my sometime daughter.
KENT	Good my liege—
LEAR	Peace, Kent. Come not between the dragon and his wrath. I loved her most, and thought to set my rest
(didascalia)	On her kind nursery. To Cordelia Hence, and avoid
LEAR	my sight!— So be my grave my peace as here I give Her father’s heart from her. Call France. Who stirs? Call Burgundy.
(didascalia)	Exit
LEAR	one or
(didascalia)	more
LEAR	Cornwall and Albany, With my two daughters’ dowers digest the third. Let pride, which she calls plainness, marry her. I do invest you jointly with my power, Pre-eminence, and all the large effects That troop with majesty. Ourself by monthly course, With reservation of an hundred knights By you to be sustained, shall our abode Make with you by due turn. Only we shall retain The name and all th’addition to a king. The sway, Revenue, execution of the rest, Beloved sons, be yours; which to confirm, This crownet part between you.
KENT	Royal Lear, Whom I have ever honoured as my king, Loved as my father, as my master followed, As my great patron thought on in my prayers—
LEAR	The bow is bent and drawn; make from the shaft.
KENT	Let it fall rather, though the fork invade The region of my heart. Be Kent unmannerly When Lear is mad. What wouldst thou do, old man? Think’st thou that duty shall have dread to speak When power to flattery bows? To plainness honour’s bound When majesty falls to folly. Reserve thy state, And in thy best consideration check This hideous rashness. Answer my life my judgement, Thy youngest daughter does not love thee least, Nor are those empty-hearted whose low sounds Reverb no hollowness.
LEAR	Kent, on thy life, no more!
KENT	My life I never held but as a pawn To wage against thine enemies, ne’er feared to lose it, Thy safety being motive.
LEAR	Out of my sight!
KENT	See better, Lear, and let me still remain The true blank of thine eye.
LEAR	Now, by Apollo—
KENT	Now, by Apollo, King, thou swear’st thy gods in vain.
(didascalia)	LEAR making to strike him
KENT	O vassal! Miscreant!
(didascalia)	ALBANY and CORDELIA Dear sir, forbear.
KENT	(to Lear) Kill thy physician, and thy fee bestow Upon the foul disease. Revoke thy gift, Or whilst I can vent clamour from my throat I’ll tell thee thou dost evil.
LEAR	Hear me, recreant; on thine allegiance hear me! That thou hast sought to make us break our vows, Which we durst never yet, and with strained pride To come betwixt our sentence and our power, Which nor our nature nor our place can bear, Our potency made good take thy reward: Five days we do allot thee for provision To shield thee from disasters of the world, And on the sixth to turn thy hated back Upon our kingdom. If on the seventh day following Thy banished trunk be found in our dominions, The moment is thy death. Away! By Jupiter, This shall not be revoked.
KENT	Fare thee well, King; sith thus thou wilt appear, Freedom lives hence, and banishment is here. (To Cordelia) The gods to their dear shelter take thee, maid, That justly think’st, and hast most rightly said. (To Goneril and Regan) And your large speeches may your deeds approve, That good effects may spring from words of love. Thus Kent, O princes, bids you all adieu; He’ll shape his old course in a country new. Exit
(didascalia)	Flourish. Enter the Duke of Gloucester with the
KENT	King of France, the Duke of Burgundy, and attendants
(didascalia)	CORDELIA
KENT	Here’s France and Burgundy, my noble lord.
LEAR	My lord of Burgundy, We first address toward you, who with this King Hath rivalled for our daughter: what in the least Will you require in present dower with her Or cease your quest of love?
BURGUNDY	Most royal majesty, I crave no more than hath your highness offered; Nor will you tender less.
LEAR	Right noble Burgundy, When she was dear to us we did hold her so; But now her price is fallen. Sir, there she stands. If aught within that little seeming substance, Or all of it, with our displeasure pieced, And nothing more, may fitly like your grace, She’s there, and she is yours.
BURGUNDY	I know no answer.
LEAR	Will you with those infirmities she owes, Unfriended, new adopted to our hate, Dowered with our curse and strangered with our oath, Take her or leave her?
BURGUNDY	Pardon me, royal sir. Election makes not up in such conditions.
LEAR	Then leave her, sir; for by the power that made me, I tell you all her wealth. (To France) For you, great King, I would not from your love make such a stray To match you where I hate, therefore beseech you T‘avert your liking a more worthier way Than on a wretch whom nature is ashamed Almost t’acknowledge hers.
FRANCE	This is most strange, That she whom even but now was your best object, The argument of your praise, balm of your age, The best, the dear’st, should in this trice of time Commit a thing so monstrous to dismantle So many folds of favour. Sure, her offence Must be of such unnatural degree That monsters it, or your fore-vouched affection Fall into taint; which to believe of her Must be a faith that reason without miracle Should never plant in me.
CORDELIA	(to Lear) I yet beseech your majesty, If for I want that glib and oily art To speak and purpose not—since what I well intend, I’ll do’t before I speak—that you make known It is no vicious blot, murder, or foulness, No unchaste action or dishonoured step That hath deprived me of your grace and favour, But even the want of that for which I am richer— A still-soliciting eye, and such a tongue That I am glad I have not, though not to have it Hath lost me in your liking.
LEAR	Better thou Hadst not been born than not t’have pleased me better.
FRANCE	Is it but this—a tardiness in nature, Which often leaves the history unspoke That it intends to do?—My lord of Burgundy, What say you to the lady? Love’s not love When it is mingled with regards that stands Aloof from th’entire point. Will you have her? She is herself a dowry.
BURGUNDY	(to Lear) Royal King, Give but that portion which yourself proposed, And here I take Cordelia by the hand, Duchess of Burgundy.
LEAR	Nothing. I have sworn. I am firm.
BURGUNDY	(to Cordelia) I am sorry, then, you have so lost a father That you must lose a husband.
CORDELIA	Peace be with Burgundy; Since that respect and fortunes are his love, I shall not be his wife.
FRANCE	Fairest Cordelia, that art most rich, being poor; Most choice, forsaken; and most loved, despised: Thee and thy virtues here I seize upon. Be it lawful, I take up what’s cast away. Gods, gods! ‘Tis strange that from their cold’st neglect My love should kindle to inflamed respect.— Thy dowerless daughter, King, thrown to my chance, Is queen of us, of ours, and our fair France. Not all the dukes of wat’rish Burgundy Can buy this unprized precious maid of me.— Bid them farewell, Cordelia, though unkind. Thou losest here, a better where to find.
LEAR	Thou hast her, France. Let her be thine, for we Have no such daughter, nor shall ever see That face of hers again. Therefore be gone, Without our grace, our love, our benison.— Come, noble Burgundy. Flourish. Exeunt all but France and the sisters
FRANCE	Bid farewell to your sisters.
CORDELIA	Ye jewels of our father, with washed eyes Cordelia leaves you. I know you what you are, And like a sister am most loath to call Your faults as they are named. Love well our father. To your professed bosoms I commit him. But yet, alas, stood I within his grace I would prefer him to a better place. So farewell to you both.
REGAN	Prescribe not us our duty.
GONERIL	Let your study Be to content your lord, who hath received you At fortune’s alms. You have obedience scanted, And well are worth the want that you have wanted.
CORDELIA	Time shall unfold what pleated cunning hides, Who covert faults at last with shame derides. Well may you prosper.
FRANCE	Come, my fair Cordelia.
(didascalia)	Exeunt France and Cordelia
GONERIL	Sister, it is not little I have to say of what most nearly appertains to us both. I think our father will hence tonight.
REGAN	That’s most certain, and with you. Next month with us.
GONERIL	You see how full of changes his age is. The observation we have made of it hath been little. He always loved our sister most, and with what poor judgement he hath now cast her off appears too grossly.
REGAN	’Tis the infirmity of his age; yet he hath ever but slenderly known himself.
GONERIL	The best and soundest of his time hath been but rash; then must we look from his age to receive not alone the imperfections of long-engrafted condition, but therewithal the unruly waywardness that infirm and choleric years bring with them.
REGAN	Such unconstant starts are we like to have from him as this of Kent’s banishment.
GONERIL	There is further compliment of leave-taking between France and him. Pray you, let us sit together. If our father carry authority with such disposition as he bears, this last surrender of his will but offend us.
REGAN	We shall further think of it. GONERIL We must do something, and i’th’ heat.
(didascalia)	Exeunt

Atto 1, Scena 2

Speaker	Line
(didascalia)	Enter Edmond the bastard
EDMOND	Thou, nature, art my goddess. To thy law My services are bound. Wherefore should I Stand in the plague of custom and permit The curiosity of nations to deprive me For that I am some twelve or fourteen moonshines Lag of a brother? Why ‘bastard’? Wherefore ‘base’, When my dimensions are as well compact, My mind as generous, and my shape as true As honest madam’s issue? Why brand they us With ‘base’, with ‘baseness, bastardy—base, base’— Who in the lusty stealth of nature take More composition and fierce quality Than doth within a dull, stale, tirèd bed Go to th’ creating a whole tribe of fops Got ‘tween a sleep and wake? Well then, Legitimate Edgar, I must have your land. Our father’s love is to the bastard Edmond As to th’ legitimate. Fine word, ‘legitimate’. Well, my legitimate, if this letter speed And my invention thrive, Edmond the base Shall to th’ legitimate. I grow, I prosper. Now gods, stand up for bastards!
(didascalia)	Enter the Duke of Gloucester. Edmond reads a letter
GLOUCESTER	Kent banished thus, and France in choler parted, And the King gone tonight, prescribed his power, Confined to exhibition—all this done Upon the gad?—Edmond, how now? What news?
EDMOND	So please your lordship, none.
GLOUCESTER	Why so earnestly seek you to put up that letter?
EDMOND	I know no news, my lord. GLOUCESTER What paper were you reading?
EDMOND	Nothing, my lord.
GLOUCESTER	No? What needed then that terrible dispatch of it into your pocket? The quality of nothing hath not such need to hide itself. Let’s see. Come, if it be nothing I shall not need spectacles.
EDMOND	I beseech you, sir, pardon me. It is a letter from my brother that I have not all o‘er-read; and for so much as I have perused, I find it not fit for your o’erlooking. GLOUCESTER Give me the letter, sir.
EDMOND	I shall offend either to detain or give it. The contents, as in part I understand them, are to blame. GLOUCESTER Let’s see, let’s see.
EDMOND	I hope for my brother’s justification he wrote this but as an assay or taste of my virtue. He gives Gloucester a letter
GLOUCESTER	(reads) ‘This policy and reverence of age makes the world bitter to the best of our times, keeps our fortunes from us till our oldness cannot relish them. I begin to find an idle and fond bondage in the oppression of aged tyranny, who sways not as it hath power but as it is suffered. Come to me, that of this I may speak more. If our father would sleep till I waked him, you should enjoy half his revenue for ever and live the beloved of your brother, Edgar.’ Hum, conspiracy! ‘Sleep till I wake him, you should enjoy half his revenue’—my son Edgar! Had he a hand to write this, a heart and brain to breed it in? When came you to this? Who brought it?
EDMOND	It was not brought me, my lord, there’s the cunning of it. I found it thrown in at the casement of my closet.
GLOUCESTER	You know the character to be your brother’s?
EDMOND	If the matter were good, my lord, I durst swear it were his; but in respect of that, I would fain think it were not. GLOUCESTER) It is his.
EDMOND	It is his hand, my lord, but I hope his heart is not in the contents.
GLOUCESTER	Has he never before sounded you in this business?
EDMOND	Never, my lord; but I have heard him oft maintain it to be fit that, sons at perfect age and fathers declined, the father should be as ward to the son, and the son manage his revenue.
GLOUCESTER	O villain, villain—his very opinion in the letter! Abhorred villain, unnatural, detested, brutish villain—worse than brutish! Go, sirrah, seek him. I’ll apprehend him. Abominable villain! Where is he?
EDMOND	I do not well know, my lord. If it shall please you to suspend your indignation against my brother till you can derive from him better testimony of his intent, you should run a certain course; where if you violently proceed against him, mistaking his purpose, it would make a great gap in your own honour and shake in pieces the heart of his obedience. I dare pawn down my life for him that he hath writ this to feel my affection to your honour, and to no other pretence of danger.
GLOUCESTER	Think you so?
EDMOND	If your honour judge it meet, I will place you where you shall hear us confer of this, and by an auricular assurance have your satisfaction, and that without any further delay than this very evening.
GLOUCESTER	He cannot be such a monster. Edmond, seek him out, wind me into him, I pray you. Frame the business after your own wisdom. I would unstate myself to be in a due resolution.
EDMOND	I will seek him, sir, presently, convey the business as I shall find means, and acquaint you withal.
GLOUCESTER	These late eclipses in the sun and moon portend no good to us. Though the wisdom of nature can reason it thus and thus, yet nature finds itself scourged by the sequent effects. Love cools, friendship falls off, brothers divide; in cities, mutinies; in countries, discord; in palaces, treason; and the bond cracked ‘twixt son and father. This villain of mine comes under the prediction: there’s son against father. The King falls from bias of nature: there’s father against child. We have seen the best of our time. Machinations, hollowness, treachery, and all ruinous disorders follow us disquietly to our graves. Find out this villain, Edmond; it shall lose thee nothing. Do it carefully. And the noble and true-hearted Kent banished, his offence honesty! ’Tis strange.
(didascalia)	Exit
EDMOND	This is the excellent foppery of the world: that when we are sick in fortune—often the surfeits of our own behaviour—we make guilty of our disasters the sun, the moon, and stars, as if we were villains on necessity, fools by heavenly compulsion, knaves, thieves, and treachers by spherical predominance, drunkards, liars, and adulterers by an enforced obedience of planetary influence, and all that we are evil in by a divine thrusting on. An admirable evasion of whore-master man, to lay his goatish disposition on the charge of a star! My father compounded with my mother under the Dragon’s tail and my nativity was under Ursa Major, so that it follows I am rough and lecherous. Fut! I should have been that I am had the maidenliest star in the firmament twinkled on my bastardizing.
(didascalia)	Enter Edgar
EDMOND	Pat he comes, like the catastrophe of the old comedy. My cue is villainous melancholy, with a sigh like Tom o’ Bedlam.
(didascalia)	He reads a book
EDMOND	—O, these eclipses do portend these divisions. Fa, so, la, mi.
EDGAR	How now, brother Edmond, what serious contemplation are you in?
EDMOND	I am thinking, brother, of a prediction I read this other day, what should follow these eclipses.
EDGAR	Do you busy yourself with that?
EDMOND	I promise you, the effects he writes of succeed unhappily. When saw you my father last?
EDGAR	The night gone by.
EDMOND	Spake you with him?
EDGAR	Ay, two hours together.
EDMOND	Parted you in good terms? Found you no displeasure in him by word nor countenance?
EDGAR	None at all.
EDMOND	Bethink yourself wherein you may have offended him, and at my entreaty forbear his presence until some little time hath qualified the heat of his displeasure, which at this instant so rageth in him that with the mischief of your person it would scarcely allay.
EDGAR	Some villain hath done me wrong.
EDMOND	That’s my fear. I pray you have a continent forbearance till the speed of his rage goes slower; and, as I say, retire with me to my lodging, from whence I will fitly bring you to hear my lord speak. Pray ye, go. There’s my key. If you do stir abroad, go armed.
EDGAR	Armed, brother?
EDMOND	Brother, I advise you to the best. I am no honest man if there be any good meaning toward you. I have told you what I have seen and heard but faintly, nothing like the image and horror of it. Pray you, away.
EDGAR	Shall I hear from you anon?
EDMOND	I do serve you in this business.
(didascalia)	Exit Edgar
EDMOND	A credulous father, and a brother noble, Whose nature is so far from doing harms That he suspects none; on whose foolish honesty My practices ride easy. I see the business. Let me, if not by birth, have lands by wit. All with me’s meet that I can fashion fit.
(didascalia)	Exit

Atto 1, Scena 3

Speaker	Line
(didascalia)	Enter Goneril and Oswald, her steward GONERIL
(didascalia)	Did my father strike my gentleman For chiding of his fool?
OSWALD	Ay, madam.
GONERIL	By day and night he wrongs me. Every hour He flashes into one gross crime or other That sets us all at odds. I’ll not endure it. His knights grow riotous, and himself upbraids us On every trifle. When he returns from hunting I will not speak with him. Say I am sick. If you come slack of former services You shall do well; the fault of it I’ll answer.
(didascalia)	Horns within
OSWALD	He’s coming, madam. I hear him.
GONERIL	Put on what weary negligence you please, You and your fellows. I’d have it come to question. If he distaste it, let him to my sister, Whose mind and mine I know in that are one. Remember what I have said.
OSWALD	Well, madam. GONERI, And let his knights have colder looks among you. What grows of it, no matter. Advise your fellows so. I’ll write straight to my sister to hold my course. Prepare for dinner.
(didascalia)	Exeunt severally

Atto 1, Scena 4

Speaker	Line
(didascalia)	Enter the Earl of Kent, disguised
KENT	If but as well I other accents borrow That can my speech diffuse, my good intent May carry through itself to that full issue For which I razed my likeness. Now, banished Kent, If thou canst serve where thou dost stand condemned, So may it come thy master, whom thou lov’st, Shall find thee full of labours. Horns within. Enter King Lear and attendants from hunting
LEAR	Let me not stay a jot for dinner. Go get it ready.
(didascalia)	Exit one
LEAR	(To Kent) How now, what art thou?
KENT	A man, sir.
LEAR	What dost thou profess? What wouldst thou with us?
KENT	I do profess to be no less than I seem, to serve him truly that will put me in trust, to love him that is honest, to converse with him that is wise and says little, to fear judgement, to fight when I cannot choose, and to eat no fish.
LEAR	What art thou?
KENT	A very honest-hearted fellow, and as poor as the King.
LEAR	If thou be‘st as poor for a subject as he’s for a king, thou’rt poor enough. What wouldst thou?
KENT	Service.
LEAR	Who wouldst thou serve?
KENT	You.
LEAR	Dost thou know me, fellow?
KENT	No, sir, but you have that in your countenance which I would fain call master.
LEAR	What’s that?
KENT	Authority.
LEAR	What services canst do?
KENT	I can keep honest counsel, ride, run, mar a curious tale in telling it, and deliver a plain message bluntly. That which ordinary men are fit for I am qualified in; and the best of me is diligence.
LEAR	How old art thou?
KENT	Not so young, sir, to love a woman for singing, nor so old to dote on her for anything. I have years on my back forty-eight.
(didascalia)	LEAR Follow me. Thou shalt serve me, if I like thee no worse after dinner. I will not part from thee yet. Dinner, ho, dinner! Where’s my knave, my fool? Go you and call my fool hither. Exit one
(didascalia)	Enter Oswald the steward
KENT	You, you, sirrah, where’s my daughter?
OSWALD	So please you—
(didascalia)	Exit
LEAR	What says the fellow there? Call the clotpoll back.
(didascalia)	Exit a knight
LEAR	Where’s my fool? Ho, I think the world’s asleep.
(didascalia)	Enter a Knight
LEAR	How now? Where’s that mongrel?
KNIGHT	He says, my lord, your daughter is not well.
LEAR	Why came not the slave back to me when I called him?
KNIGHT	Sir, he answered me in the roundest manner he would not.
LEAR	A would not?
KNIGHT	My lord, I know not what the matter is, but to my judgement your highness is not entertained with that ceremonious affection as you were wont. There’s a great abatement of kindness appears as well in the general dependants as in the Duke himself also, and your daughter.
LEAR	Ha, sayst thou so?
KNIGHT	I beseech you pardon me, my lord, if I be mistaken, for my duty cannot be silent when I think your highness wronged.
LEAR	Thou but rememberest me of mine own conception. I have perceived a most faint neglect of late, which I have rather blamed as mine own jealous curiosity than as a very pretence and purpose of unkindness. I will look further into’t. But where’s my fool? I have not seen him these two days.
KNIGHT	Since my young lady’s going into France, sir, the fool hath much pined away.
(didascalia)	LEAR No more of that, I have noted it well. Go you and tell my daughter I would speak with her. Exit one Go you, call hither my fool. Exit one
(didascalia)	Enter Oswald the steward crossing the stage
KNIGHT	O you, sir, you, come you hither, sir, who am I, sir? OSWALD My lady’s father.
LEAR	My lady’s father? My lord’s knave, you whoreson dog, you slave, you cur!
OSWALD	I am none of these, my lord, I beseech your pardon.
LEAR	Do you bandy looks with me, you rascal?
(didascalia)	Lear strikes him
OSWALD	I’ll not be strucken, my lord.
(didascalia)	KENT tripping him Nor tripped neither, you base football player.
LEAR	(to Kent) I thank thee, fellow. Thou serv’st me, and I’ll love thee.
KENT	(to Oswald) Come, sir, arise, away. I’ll teach you differences. Away, away. If you will measure your lubber’s length again, tarry; but away, go to. Have you wisdom? So. Exit Oswald
LEAR	Now, my friendly knave, I thank thee.
(didascalia)	Enter Lear’s Fool
LEAR	There’s earnest of thy service. He gives Kent money
FOOL	Let me hire him, too. (To Kent) Here’s my coxcomb.
LEAR	How now, my pretty knave, how dost thou?
FOOL	(to Kent) Sirrah, you were best take my coxcomb.
LEAR	Why, my boy?
FOOL	Why? For taking one’s part that’s out of favour. (To Kent) Nay, an thou canst not smile as the wind sits, thou’lt catch cold shortly. There, take my coxcomb. Why, this fellow has banished two on’s daughters and did the third a blessing against his will. If thou follow him, thou must needs wear my coxcomb. (To Lear) How now, nuncle? Would I had two coxcombs and two daughters.
LEAR	Why, my boy?
FOOL	If I gave them all my living I’d keep my coxcombs myself. There’s mine; beg another off thy daughters.
LEAR	Take heed, sirrah—the whip.
FOOL	Truth’s a dog must to kennel. He must be whipped out when the Lady Brach may stand by th’ fire and stink.
LEAR	A pestilent gall to me!
(didascalia)	FOOL to Kent Sirrah, I’ll teach thee a speech.
LEAR	Do.
FOOL	Mark it, nuncle: Have more than thou showest, Speak less than thou knowest, Lend less than thou owest, Ride more than thou goest, Learn more than thou trowest, Set less than thou throwest, Leave thy drink and thy whore, And keep in-a-door, And thou shalt have more Than two tens to a score.
KENT	This is nothing, fool.
FOOL	Then ’tis like the breath of an unfee’d lawyer: you gave me nothing for’t. (To Lear) Can you make no use of nothing, nuncle?
LEAR	Why no, boy. Nothing can be made out of nothing.
FOOL	(to Kent) Prithee, tell him so much the rent of his land comes to. He will not believe a fool.
LEAR	A bitter fool.
FOOL	Dost know the difference, my boy, between a bitter fool and a sweet one?
LEAR	No, lad. Teach me.
FOOL	Nuncle, give me an egg, and I’ll give thee two crowns.
LEAR	What two crowns shall they be?
(didascalia)	FOOL Why, after I have cut the egg i‘th’ middle and eat up the meat, the two crowns of the egg. When thou clovest thy crown i’th’ middle and gavest away both parts, thou borest thine ass o‘th’ back o’er the dirt. Thou hadst little wit in thy bald crown when thou gavest thy golden one away. If I speak like myself in this, let him be whipped that first finds it so. Sings Fools had ne’er less grace in a year,
LEAR	For wise men are grown foppish, And know not how their wits to wear, Their manners are so apish.
LEAR	When were you wont to be so full of songs, sirrah?
(didascalia)	FOOL I have used it, nuncle, e’er since thou madest thy daughters thy mothers; for when thou gavest them the rod and puttest down thine own breeches, Sings Then they for sudden joy did weep,
LEAR	And I for sorrow sung, That such a king should play bo-peep And go the fools among. Prithee, nuncle, keep a schoolmaster that can teach thy fool to lie. I would fain learn to lie.
LEAR	An you lie, sirrah, we’ll have you whipped.
FOOL	I marvel what kin thou and thy daughters are. They’ll have me whipped for speaking true, thou‘lt have me whipped for lying, and sometimes I am whipped for holding my peace. I had rather be any kind o’ thing than a fool; and yet I would not be thee, nuncle. Thou hast pared thy wit o’ both sides and left nothing i’th’ middle.
(didascalia)	Enter Goneril
FOOL	Here comes one o’ the parings.
LEAR	How now, daughter? What makes that frontlet on? You are too much of late i’th’ frown.
(didascalia)	FOOL Thou wast a pretty fellow when thou hadst no need to care for her frowning. Now thou art an O without a figure. I am better than thou art, now. I am a fool; thou art nothing. To Goneril Yes, forsooth, I will hold my tongue; so your face bids me, though you say nothing.
(didascalia)	Sings Mum, mum.
LEAR	He that keeps nor crust nor crumb, Weary of all, shall want some. That’s a shelled peascod.
GONERIL	(to Lear) Not only, sir, this your all-licensed fool, But other of your insolent retinue Do hourly carp and quarrel, breaking forth In rank and not-to-be-endured riots. Sir, I had thought by making this well known unto you To have found a safe redress, but now grow fearful, By what yourself too late have spoke and done, That you protect this course, and put it on By your allowance; which if you should, the fault Would not scape censure, nor the redresses sleep Which in the tender of a wholesome weal Might in their working do you that offence, Which else were shame, that then necessity Will call discreet proceeding.
FOOL	(to Lear) For, you know, nuncle,
(didascalia)	Sings The hedge-sparrow fed the cuckoo so long
FOOL	That it’s had it head bit off by it young; so out went the candle, and we were left darkling.
LEAR	(to Goneril) Are you our daughter?
GONERIL	I would you would make use of your good wisdom, Whereof I know you are fraught, and put away These dispositions which of late transport you From what you rightly are.
(didascalia)	FOOL May not an ass know when the cart draws the horse? Sings ‘Whoop, jug, I love thee!’
LEAR	Does any here know me? This is not Lear. Does Lear walk thus, speak thus? Where are his eyes? Either his notion weakens, his discernings Are lethargied—ha, waking? ’Tis not so. Who is it that can tell me who I am?
FOOL	Lear’s shadow.
LEAR	(to Goneril) Your name, fair gentlewoman?
GONERIL	This admiration, sir, is much o’th’ savour Of other your new pranks. I do beseech you To understand my purposes aright, As you are old and reverend, should be wise. Here do you keep a hundred knights and squires, Men so disordered, so debauched and bold That this our court, infected with their manners, Shows like a riotous inn. Epicurism and lust Makes it more like a tavern or a brothel Than a graced palace. The shame itself doth speak For instant remedy. Be then desired, By her that else will take the thing she begs, A little to disquantity your train, And the remainders that shall still depend To be such men as may besort your age, Which know themselves and you.
LEAR	Darkness and devils! Saddle my horses, call my train together!—
(didascalia)	Exit one or more
LEAR	Degenerate bastard, I’ll not trouble thee. Yet have I left a daughter.
GONERIL	You strike my people, and your disordered rabble Make servants of their betters.
(didascalia)	Enter the Duke of Albany
LEAR	Woe that too late repents! Is it your will? Speak, sir.—Prepare my horses.
(didascalia)	Exit one or more
LEAR	Ingratitude, thou marble-hearted fiend, More hideous when thou show’st thee in a child Than the sea-monster—
ALBANY	Pray sir, be patient.
LEAR	(to Goneril) Detested kite, thou liest. My train are men of choice and rarest parts, That all particulars of duty know, And in the most exact regard support The worships of their name. O most small fault, How ugly didst thou in Cordelia show, Which, like an engine, wrenched my frame of nature From the fixed place, drew from my heart all love, And added to the gall! O Lear, Lear, Lear! Beat at this gate that let thy folly in And thy dear judgement out.—Go, go, my people!
ALBANY	My lord, I am guiltless, as I am ignorant Of what hath moved you.
LEAR	It may be so, my lord. Hear, nature; hear, dear goddess, hear: Suspend thy purpose if thou didst intend To make this creature fruitful. Into her womb convey sterility. Dry up in her the organs of increase, And from her derogate body never spring A babe to honour her. If she must teem, Create her child of spleen, that it may live And be a thwart disnatured torment to her. Let it stamp wrinkles in her brow of youth, With cadent tears fret channels in her cheeks, Turn all her mother’s pains and benefits To laughter and contempt, that she may feel— That she may feel How sharper than a serpent’s tooth it is To have a thankless child. Away, away!
(didascalia)	Exeunt Lear, Kent, and attendants
ALBANY	Now, gods that we adore, whereof comes this?
GONERIL	Never afflict yourself to know more of it, But let his disposition have that scope As dotage gives it.
(didascalia)	Enter King Lear
LEAR	What, fifty of my followers at a clap?
(didascalia)	Within a fortnight?
ALBANY	What’s the matter, sir?
LEAR	I’ll tell thee. (To Goneril) Life and death! I am ashamed That thou hast power to shake my manhood thus, That these hot tears, which break from me perforce, Should make thee worth them. Blasts and fogs upon thee! Th’untented woundings of a father’s curse Pierce every sense about thee! Old fond eyes, Beweep this cause again I’ll pluck ye out And cast you, with the waters that you loose, To temper clay. Ha! Let it be so. I have another daughter Who, I am sure, is kind and comfortable. When she shall hear this of thee, with her nails She’ll flay thy wolvish visage. Thou shalt find That I’ll resume the shape which thou dost think I have cast off for ever.
(didascalia)	Exit
GONERIL	Do you mark that?
ALBANY	I cannot be so partial, Goneril, To the great love I bear you—
GONERIL	Pray you, content. What, Oswald, ho!— You, sir, more knave than fool, after your master.
FOOL	Nuncle Lear, nuncle Lear, Tarry, take the fool with thee. A fox when one has caught her, And such a daughter, Should sure to the slaughter, If my cap would buy a halter. So, the fool follows after. Exit
GONERIL	This man hath had good counsel—a hundred knights? ’Tis politic and safe to let him keep At point a hundred knights, yes, that on every dream, Each buzz, each fancy, each complaint, dislike, He may enguard his dotage with their powers And hold our lives in mercy.—Oswald, I say!
ALBANY	Well, you may fear too far.
GONERIL	Safer than trust too far. Let me still take away the harms I fear, Not fear still to be taken. I know his heart. What he hath uttered I have writ my sister. If she sustain him and his hundred knights When I have showed th’unfitness—
(didascalia)	Enter Oswald the steward
GONERIL	How now, Oswald? What, have you writ that letter to my sister?
OSWALD	Ay, madam.
GONERIL	Take you some company, and away to horse. Inform her full of my particular fear, And thereto add such reasons of your own As may compact it more. Get you gone, And hasten your return.
(didascalia)	Exit Oswald
GONERIL	No, no, my lord, This milky gentleness and course of yours, Though I condemn not, yet under pardon You are much more attasked for want of wisdom Than praised for harmful mildness.
ALBANY	How far your eyes may pierce I cannot tell. Striving to better, oft we mar what’s well.
GONERIL	Nay, then—
ALBANY	Well, well, th’event.
(didascalia)	Exeunt

Atto 1, Scena 5

Speaker	Line
(didascalia)	Enter King Lear, the Earl of Kent disguised, the First Gentleman, and Lear’s Fool
(didascalia)	LEAR to
(didascalia)	the Gentleman, giving him a letter Go you before to Gloucester with these letters. Exit Gentleman To Kent, giving him a letter Acquaint my daughter no further with anything you know than comes from her demand out of the letter. If your diligence be not speedy, I shall be there afore you.
KENT	I will not sleep, my lord, till I have delivered your letter. Exit
FOOL	If a man’s brains were in’s heels, were’t not in danger of kibes?
LEAR	Ay, boy.
FOOL	Then, I prithee, be merry: thy wit shall not go slipshod.
LEAR	Ha, ha, ha!
FOOL	Shalt see thy other daughter will use thee kindly, for though she’s as like this as a crab’s like an apple, yet I can tell what I can tell.
LEAR	What canst tell, boy?
FOOL	She will taste as like this as a crab does to a crab. Thou canst tell why one’s nose stands i’th’ middle on ’s face?
LEAR	No.
FOOL	Why, to keep one’s eyes of either side ’s nose, that what a man cannot smell out, a may spy into.
LEAR	I did her wrong.
FOOL	Canst tell how an oyster makes his shell?
LEAR	No.
FOOL	Nor I neither; but I can tell why a snail has a house.
LEAR	Why?
FOOL	Why, to put ’s head in, not to give it away to his daughters and leave his horns without a case.
LEAR	I will forget my nature. So kind a father! Be my horses ready?
FOOL	Thy asses are gone about ’em. The reason why the seven stars are no more than seven is a pretty reason.
LEAR	Because they are not eight.
FOOL	Yes, indeed, thou wouldst make a good fool.
LEAR	To take’t again perforce—monster ingratitude!
FOOL	If thou wert my fool, nuncle, I’d have thee beaten for being old before thy time.
LEAR	How’s that?
FOOL	Thou shouldst not have been old till thou hadst been wise.
LEAR	O, let me not be mad, not mad, sweet heaven! Keep me in temper. I would not be mad.
(didascalia)	Enter the First Gentleman
LEAR	How now, are the horses ready?
(didascalia)	FIRST GENTLEMAN Ready, my lord.
LEAR	(to Fool) Come, boy.
(didascalia)	Exeunt Lear and Gentleman
FOOL	She that’s a maid now, and laughs at my departure, Shall not be a maid long, unless things be cut shorter.
(didascalia)	Exit

Atto 2, Scena 1

Speaker	Line
(didascalia)	Enter Edmond the bastard, and Curan, severally EDMOND Save thee, Curan.
CURAN	And you, sir. I have been with your father, and given him notice that the Duke of Cornwall and Regan his duchess will be here with him this night.
EDMOND	How comes that? CURAN Nay, I know not. You have heard of the news abroad?—I mean the whispered ones, for they are yet but ear-kissing arguments.
EDMOND	Not I. Pray you, what are they?
CURAN	Have you heard of no likely wars toward twixt the Dukes of Cornwall and Albany?
EDMOND	Not a word.
CURAN	You may do then in time. Fare you well, sir.
(didascalia)	Exit
EDMOND	The Duke be here tonight! The better, best. This weaves itself perforce into my business.
(didascalia)	Enter Edgar at a window above
EDMOND	My father hath set guard to take my brother, And I have one thing of a queasy question Which I must act. Briefness and fortune work!— Brother, a word, descend. Brother, I say.
(didascalia)	Edgar climbs down
EDMOND	My father watches. O sir, fly this place. Intelligence is given where you are hid. You have now the good advantage of the night. Have you not spoken ‘gainst the Duke of Cornwall? He’s coming hither, now, i’th’ night, i‘th’ haste, And Regan with him. Have you nothing said Upon his party ’gainst the Duke of Albany? Advise yourself.
EDGAR	I am sure on’t, not a word.
EDMOND	I hear my father coming. Pardon me. In cunning I must draw my sword upon you. Draw. Seem to defend yourself. Now, quit you well. (Calling) Yield, come before my father. Light ho, here! (To Edgar) Fly, brother! (Calling) Torches, torches! (To Edgar) So, farewell.
(didascalia)	Exit Edgar
EDMOND	Some blood drawn on me would beget opinion Of my more fierce endeavour. He wounds his arm I have seen drunkards Do more than this in sport. (Calling) Father, father! Stop, stop! Ho, help!
(didascalia)	Enter the Duke of Gloucester, and servants with torches
GLOUCESTER	Now, Edmond, where’s the villain?
EDMOND	Here stood he in the dark, his sharp sword out, Mumbling of wicked charms, conjuring the moon To stand ’s auspicious mistress.
GLOUCESTER	But where is he?
EDMOND	Look, sir, I bleed.
GLOUCESTER	Where is the villain, Edmond?
EDMOND	Fled this way, sir, when by no means he could—
GLOUCESTER	Pursue him, ho! Go after.
(didascalia)	Exeunt servants
GLOUCESTER	By no means what?
EDMOND	Persuade me to the murder of your lordship, But that I told him the revenging gods ‘Gainst parricides did all the thunder bend, Spoke with how manifold and strong a bond The child was bound to th’ father. Sir, in fine, Seeing how loathly opposite I stood To his unnatural purpose, in fell motion With his prepared sword he charges home My unprovided body, latched mine arm; And when he saw my best alarumed spirits Bold in the quarrel’s right, roused to th’encounter, Or whether ghasted by the noise I made, Full suddenly he fled.
GLOUCESTER	Let him fly far, Not in this land shall he remain uncaught, And found, dispatch. The noble Duke my master, My worthy arch and patron, comes tonight. By his authority I will proclaim it That he which finds him shall deserve our thanks, Bringing the murderous coward to the stake; He that conceals him, death.
EDMOND	When I dissuaded him from his intent And found him pitched to do it, with curst speech I threatened to discover him. He replied, ‘Thou unpossessing bastard, dost thou think If I would stand against thee, would the reposal Of any trust, virtue, or worth in thee Make thy words faithed? No, what I should deny— As this I would, ay, though thou didst produce My very character—I’d turn it all To thy suggestion, plot, and damned practice, And thou must make a dullard of the world If they not thought the profits of my death Were very pregnant and potential spirits To make thee seek it.’
GLOUCESTER	O strange and fastened villain! Would he deny his letter, said he?
(didascalia)	Tucket within
GLOUCESTER	Hark, the Duke’s trumpets. I know not why he comes. All ports I’ll bar. The villain shall not scape. The Duke must grant me that; besides, his picture I will send far and near, that all the kingdom May have due note of him—and of my land, Loyal and natural boy, I’ll work the means To make thee capable.
(didascalia)	Enter the Duke of Cornwall, Regan, and attendants
CORNWALL	How now, my noble friend? Since I came hither, Which I can call but now, I have heard strange news.
REGAN	If it be true, all vengeance comes too short Which can pursue th’offender. How dost, my lord?
GLOUCESTER	O madam, my old heart is cracked, it’s cracked.
REGAN	What, did my father’s godson seek your life? He whom my father named, your Edgar?
GLOUCESTER	O lady, lady, shame would have it hid!
REGAN	Was he not companion with the riotous knights That tend upon my father?
GLOUCESTER	I know not, madam. ’Tis too bad, too bad.
EDMOND	Yes, madam, he was of that consort.
REGAN	No marvel, then, though he were ill affected. ‘Tis they have put him on the old man’s death, To have th’expense and spoil of his revenues. I have this present evening from my sister Been well informed of them, and with such cautions That if they come to sojourn at my house I’ll not be there.
CORNWALL	Nor I, assure thee, Regan. Edmond, I hear that you have shown your father A childlike office.
EDMOND	It was my duty, sir. GLOUCESTER (to Cornwall) He did bewray his practice, and received This hurt you see striving to apprehend him.
CORNWALL	Is he pursued?
GLOUCESTER	Ay, my good lord.
CORNWALL	If he be taken, he shall never more Be feared of doing harm. Make your own purpose How in my strength you please. For you, Edmond, Whose virtue and obedience doth this instant So much commend itself, you shall be ours. Natures of such deep trust we shall much need. You we first seize on.
EDMOND	I shall serve you, sir, Truly, however else.
GLOUCESTER	(to Cornwall) For him I thank your grace.
CORNWALL	You know not why we came to visit you—
REGAN	Thus out of season, threading dark-eyed night— Occasions, noble Gloucester, of some poise, Wherein we must have use of your advice. Our father he hath writ, so hath our sister, Of differences which I least thought it fit To answer from our home. The several messengers From hence attend dispatch. Our good old friend, Lay comforts to your bosom, and bestow Your needful counsel to our businesses, Which craves the instant use.
GLOUCESTER	I serve you, madam. Your graces are right welcome.
(didascalia)	Flourish. Exeunt
GLOUCESTER	2.2 Enter the Earl of Kent, disguised, and Oswald the steward, severally
OSWALD	Good dawning to thee, friend. Art of this house? KENT Ay.
OSWALD	Where may we set our horses?
KENT	I’th’ mire.
OSWALD	Prithee, if thou lov’st me, tell me. 5 KENT I love thee not.
OSWALD	Why then, I care not for thee.
KENT	If I had thee in Lipsbury pinfold I would make thee care for me.
OSWALD	Why dost thou use me thus? I know thee not.
KENT	Fellow, I know thee.
OSWALD	What dost thou know me for?
KENT	A knave, a rascal, an eater of broken meats, a base, proud, shallow, beggarly, three-suited, hundred-pound, filthy worsted-stocking knave; a lily-livered, action-taking, whoreson, glass-gazing, super-serviceable, finical rogue; one-trunk-inheriting slave; one that wouldst be a bawd in way of good service, and art nothing but the composition of a knave, beggar, coward, pander, and the son and heir of a mongrel bitch, one whom I will beat into clamorous whining if thou deniest the least syllable of thy addition.
OSWALD	Why, what a monstrous fellow art thou, thus to rail on one that is neither known of thee nor knows thee!
KENT	What a brazen-faced varlet art thou, to deny thou knowest me! Is it two days since I tripped up thy heels and beat thee before the King? Draw, you rogue; for though it be night, yet the moon shines.
(didascalia)	He draws his sword
KENT	I’ll make a sop o’th’ moonshine of you, you whoreson, cullionly barber-monger, draw!
OSWALD	Away. I have nothing to do with thee.
KENT	Draw, you rascal. You come with letters against the King, and take Vanity the puppet’s part against the royalty of her father. Draw, you rogue, or I’ll so carbonado your shanks—draw, you rascal, come your ways!
OSWALD	Help, ho, murder, help!
KENT	Strike, you slave! Stand, rogue! Stand, you neat slave, strike! 40
OSWALD	Help, ho, murder, murder!
(didascalia)	Enter Edmond the bastard, then the Duke of
OSWALD	Cornwall, Regan, the Duke of Gloucester, and servants
EDMOND	How now, what’s the matter? Part.
KENT	With you, goodman boy. If you please, come, I’ll flesh ye. Come on, young master.
GLOUCESTER	Weapons? Arms? What’s the matter here?
CORNWALL	Keep peace, upon your lives. He dies that strikes again. What is the matter?
REGAN	The messengers from our sister and the King. CORNWALL (to Kent and Oswald) What is your difference? Speak.
OSWALD	I am scarce in breath, my lord.
KENT	No marvel, you have so bestirred your valour, you cowardly rascal. Nature disclaims in thee; a tailor made thee.
CORNWALL	Thou art a strange fellow—a tailor make a man?
KENT	A tailor, sir. A stone-cutter or a painter could not have made him so ill though they had been but two years o’th’ trade.
CORNWALL	Speak yet; how grew your quarrel?
OSWALD	This ancient ruffian, sir, whose life I have spared at suit of his grey beard—
KENT	Thou whoreson Z, thou unnecessary letter—(to Cornwall) my lord, if you’ll give me leave I will tread this unbolted villain into mortar and daub the wall of a jakes with him. (To Oswald) Spare my grey beard, you wagtail?
CORNWALL	Peace, sirrah. You beastly knave, know you no reverence?
KENT	Yes, sir, but anger hath a privilege.
CORNWALL	Why art thou angry?
KENT	That such a slave as this should wear a sword, Who wears no honesty. Such smiling rogues as these, Like rats, oft bite the holy cords a-twain Which are too intrince t’unloose, smooth every passion That in the natures of their lords rebel; Being oil to fire, snow to the colder moods, Renege, affirm, and turn their halcyon beaks With every gall and vary of their masters, Knowing naught, like dogs, but following.
(didascalia)	To Oswald A plague upon your epileptic visage!
KENT	Smile you my speeches as I were a fool? Goose, an I had you upon Sarum Plain I’d drive ye cackling home to Camelot.
CORNWALL	What, art thou mad, old fellow?
(didascalia)	GLOUCESTER to Kent How fell you out? Say that.
KENT	No contraries hold more antipathy Than I and such a knave.
CORNWALL	Why dost thou call him knave? What is his fault?
KENT	His countenance likes me not.
CORNWALL	No more perchance does mine, nor his, nor hers.
KENT	Sir, ’tis my occupation to be plain: I have seen better faces in my time Than stands on any shoulder that I see Before me at this instant.
CORNWALL	This is some fellow Who, having been praised for bluntness, doth affect A saucy roughness, and constrains the garb Quite from his nature. He cannot flatter, he; An honest mind and plain, he must speak truth. An they will take’t, so; if not, he’s plain. These kind of knaves I know, which in this plainness Harbour more craft and more corrupter ends Than twenty silly-ducking observants That stretch their duties nicely.
KENT	Sir, in good faith, in sincere verity, Under th‘allowance of your great aspect, Whose influence, like the wreath of radiant fire On flick’ring Phoebus’ front—
CORNWALL	What mean’st by this?
KENT	To go out of my dialect, which you discommend so much. I know, sir, I am no flatterer. He that beguiled you in a plain accent was a plain knave, which for my part I will not be, though I should win your displeasure to entreat me to’t.
CORNWALL	(to Oswald) What was th’offence you gave him?
OSWALD	I never gave him any. It pleased the King his master very late To strike at me upon his misconstruction, When he, compact, and flattering his displeasure, Tripped me behind; being down, insulted, railed, And put upon him such a deal of man That worthied him, got praises of the King For him attempting who was self-subdued, And in the fleshment of this dread exploit Drew on me here again.
KENT	None of these rogues and cowards But Ajax is their fool.
CORNWALL	Fetch forth the stocks!
(didascalia)	Exeunt some servants
CORNWALL	You stubborn, ancient knave, you reverend braggart, We’ll teach you.
KENT	Sir, I am too old to learn. Call not your stocks for me. I serve the King, On whose employment I was sent to you. You shall do small respect, show too bold malice Against the grace and person of my master, Stocking his messenger.
(didascalia)	CORNWALL calling
KENT	Fetch forth the stocks!— As I have life and honour, there shall he sit till noon.
REGAN	Till noon?—till night, my lord, and all night too.
KENT	Why, madam, if I were your father’s dog You should not use me so.
REGAN	Sir, being his knave, I will. Stocks brought out
CORNWALL	This is a fellow of the selfsame colour Our sister speaks of.—Come, bring away the stocks.
GLOUCESTER	Let me beseech your grace not to do so. The King his master needs must take it ill That he, so slightly valued in his messenger, Should have him thus restrained.
CORNWALL	I’ll answer that.
(didascalia)	Theg put Kent in the stocks
REGAN	My sister may receive it much more worse To have her gentlemen abused, assaulted.
CORNWALL	Come, my good lord, away!
(didascalia)	Exeunt all but Gloucester and Kent
GLOUCESTER	I am sorry for thee, friend. ’Tis the Duke’s pleasure, Whose disposition, all the world well knows, Will not be rubbed nor stopped. I’ll entreat for thee.
KENT	Pray do not, sir. I have watched and travelled hard. Some time I shall sleep out; the rest I’ll whistle. A good man’s fortune may grow out at heels. Give you good morrow.
GLOUCESTER	The Duke’s to blame in this; ’twill be ill taken. Exit
KENT	Good King, that must approve the common say: Thou out of heaven’s benediction com’st To the warm sun.
(didascalia)	He takes out a letter
KENT	Approach, thou beacon to this under globe, That by thy comfortable beams I may Peruse this letter. Nothing almost sees miracles But misery. I know ‘tis from Cordelia, Who hath now fortunately been informed Of my obscured course, and shall find time For this enormous state, seeking to give Losses their remedies. All weary and o’erwatched, Take vantage, heavy eyes, not to behold This shameful lodging. Fortune, good night; Smile once more; turn thy wheel. He sleeps
(didascalia)	Enter Edgar
EDGAR	I heard myself proclaimed, And by the happy hollow of a tree Escaped the hunt. No port is free, no place That guard and most unusual vigilance Does not attend my taking. Whiles I may scape I will preserve myself, and am bethought To take the basest and most poorest shape That ever penury in contempt of man Brought near to beast. My face I’ll grime with filth, Blanket my loins, elf all my hairs in knots, And with presented nakedness outface The winds and persecutions of the sky. The country gives me proof and precedent Of Bedlam beggars who with roaring voices Strike in their numbed and mortified arms Pins, wooden pricks, nails, sprigs of rosemary, And with this horrible object from low farms, Poor pelting villages, sheep-cotes and mills Sometime with lunatic bans, sometime with prayers Enforce their charity. ‘Poor Tuelygod, Poor Tom.’ That’s something yet. Edgar I nothing am.
(didascalia)	Exit
(didascalia)	Enter King Lear, his Fool, and the First Gentleman
LEAR	’Tis strange that they should so depart from home And not send back my messenger.
(didascalia)	FIRST GENTLEMAN
LEAR	As I learned, The night before there was no purpose in them Of this remove.
KENT	(waking) Hail to thee, noble master.
LEAR	Ha! Mak’st thou this shame thy pastime?
KENT	No, my lord.
FOOL	Ha, ha, he wears cruel garters! Horses are tied by the heads, dogs and bears by th’ neck, monkeys by th’ loins, and men by th’ legs. When a man’s overlusty at legs, then he wears wooden nether-stocks.
LEAR	(to Kent) What’s he that hath so much thy place mistook To set thee here?
KENT	It is both he and she: Your son and daughter.
LEAR	By Jupiter, I swear no.
KENT	By Juno, I swear ay.
LEAR	They durst not do’t, They could not, would not do’t. ’Tis worse than murder, To do upon respect such violent outrage. Resolve me with all modest haste which way Thou mightst deserve or they impose this usage, Coming from us.
KENT	My lord, when at their home I did commend your highness’ letters to them, Ere I was risen from the place that showed My duty kneeling, came there a reeking post Stewed in his haste, half breathless, painting forth From Goneril, his mistress, salutations, Delivered letters spite of intermission, Which presently they read, on whose contents 210 They summoned up their meiny, straight took horse, Commanded me to follow and attend The leisure of their answer, gave me cold looks; And meeting here the other messenger, Whose welcome I perceived had poisoned mine— Being the very fellow which of late Displayed so saucily against your highness— Having more man than wit about me, drew. He raised the house with loud and coward cries. Your son and daughter found this trespass worth The shame which here it suffers.
FOOL	Winter’s not gone yet if the wild geese fly that way.
(didascalia)	Sings Fathers that wear rags
FOOL	Do make their children blind, But fathers that bear bags Shall see their children kind. Fortune, that arrant whore, Ne’er turns the key to th’ poor. But for all this thou shalt have as many dolours for thy daughters as thou canst tell in a year.
LEAR	O, how this mother swells up toward my heart! Histerica passio down, thou climbing sorrow; Thy element’s below.—Where is this daughter?
KENT	With the Earl, sir, here within.
LEAR	Follow me not; stay here.
(didascalia)	Exit
(didascalia)	FIRST GENTLEMAN (to Kent)
LEAR	Made you no more offence but what you speak of?
KENT	None. How chance the King comes with so small a number?
FOOL	An thou hadst been set i’th’ stocks for that question, thou’dst well deserved it.
KENT	Why, Fool?
FOOL	We’ll set thee to school to an ant, to teach thee there’s no labouring i’th’ winter. All that follow their noses are led by their eyes but blind men, and there’s not a nose among twenty but can smell him that’s stinking. Let go thy hold when a great wheel runs down a hill, lest it break thy neck with following; but the great one that goes upward, let him draw thee after. When a wise man gives thee better counsel, give me mine again. I would have none but knaves follow it, since a fool gives it.
(didascalia)	Sings
FOOL	That sir which serves and seeks for gain And follows but for form, Will pack when it begin to rain, And leave thee in the storm. But I will tarry, the fool will stay, And let the wise man fly. The knave turns fool that runs away, The fool no knave, pardie.
KENT	Where learned you this, Fool?
FOOL	Not i’th’ stocks, fool.
(didascalia)	Enter King Lear and the Duke of Gloucester
LEAR	Deny to speak with me? They are sick, they are weary, They have travelled all the night?—mere fetches, The images of revolt and flying off. Fetch me a better answer.
GLOUCESTER	My dear lord, You know the fiery quality of the Duke, How unremovable and fixed he is In his own course.
LEAR	Vengeance, plague, death, confusion! ‘Fiery’? What ‘quality’? Why, Gloucester, Gloucester, I’d speak with the Duke of Cornwall and his wife.
GLOUCESTER	Well, my good lord, I have informed them so.
LEAR	‘Informed them’? Dost thou understand me, man?
GLOUCESTER	Ay, my good lord.
LEAR	The King would speak with Cornwall; the dear father Would with his daughter speak, commands, tends service. Are they ‘informed’ of this? My breath and blood— ‘Fiery’? The ‘fiery’ Duke—tell the hot Duke that— No, but not yet. Maybe he is not well. Infirmity doth still neglect all office Whereto our health is bound. We are not ourselves When nature, being oppressed, commands the mind To suffer with the body. I’ll forbear, And am fallen out with my more headier will, To take the indisposed and sickly fit For the sound man.—Death on my state, wherefore Should he sit here? This act persuades me That this remotion of the Duke and her Is practice only. Give me my servant forth. Go tell the Duke and’s wife I’d speak with them, Now, presently. Bid them come forth and hear me, Or at their chamber door I’ll beat the drum Till it cry sleep to death.
GLOUCESTER	I would have all well betwixt you.
(didascalia)	Exit
LEAR	O me, my heart! My rising heart! But down.
FOOL	Cry to it, nuncle, as the cockney did to the eels when she put ‘em i’th’ paste alive. She knapped ‘em o’th’ coxcombs with a stick, and cried ‘Down, wantons, down!’ ’Twas her brother that, in pure kindness to his horse, buttered his hay.
(didascalia)	Enter the Duke of Cornwall, Regan, the Duke of Gloucester, and servants
LEAR	Good morrow to you both.
CORNWALL	Hail to your grace. Kent here set at liberty
REGAN	I am glad to see your highness.
LEAR	Regan, I think you are. I know what reason I have to think so. If thou shouldst not be glad I would divorce me from thy mother’s shrine, Sepulchring an adultress. (To Kent) O, are you free?
(didascalia)	Some other time for that. Exit Kent
LEAR	Beloved Regan, Thy sister’s naught. O, Regan, she hath tied Sharp-toothed unkindness like a vulture here. I can scarce speak to thee. Thou’lt not believe With how depraved a quality-O, Regan!
REGAN	I pray you, sir, take patience. I have hope You less know how to value her desert Than she to scant her duty.
LEAR	Say, how is that?
REGAN	I cannot think my sister in the least Would fail her obligation. If, sir, perchance She have restrained the riots of your followers, ’Tis on such ground and to such wholesome end As clears her from all blame.
LEAR	My curses on her.
REGAN	O sir, you are old. Nature in you stands on the very verge Of his confine. You should be ruled and led By some discretion that discerns your state Better than you yourself. Therefore I pray you That to our sister you do make return; Say you have wronged her.
LEAR	Ask her forgiveness? Do you but mark how this becomes the house?
(didascalia)	Kneehng ‘Dear daughter, I confess that I am old.
LEAR	Age is unnecessary. On my knees I beg That you’ll vouchsafe me raiment, bed, and food.’
REGAN	Good sir, no more. These are unsightly tricks. Return you to my sister.
(didascalia)	LEAR rising
REGAN	Never, Regan. She hath abated me of half my train, Looked black upon me, struck me with her tongue Most serpent-like upon the very heart. All the stored vengeances of heaven fall On her ingrateful top! Strike her young bones, You taking airs, with lameness!
CORNWALL	Fie, sir, fie.
LEAR	You nimble lightnings, dart your blinding flames Into her scornful eyes. Infect her beauty, You fen-sucked fogs drawn by the pow’rful sun To fall and blister.
REGAN	O, the blest gods! So will you wish on me when the rash mood is on.
LEAR	No, Regan. Thou shalt never have my curse. Thy tender-hafted nature shall not give Thee o‘er to harshness. Her eyes are fierce, but thine Do comfort and not burn. ’Tis not in thee To grudge my pleasures, to cut off my train, To bandy hasty words, to scant my sizes, And, in conclusion, to oppose the bolt Against my coming in. Thou better know‘st The offices of nature, bond of childhood, Effects of courtesy, dues of gratitude. Thy half o’th’ kingdom hast thou not forgot, Wherein I thee endowed.
REGAN	Good sir, to th’ purpose.
LEAR	Who put my man i’th’ stocks?
(didascalia)	Tucket within
CORNWALL	What trumpet’s that?
(didascalia)	Enter Oswald the steward
REGAN	I know’t, my sister’s. This approves her letter That she would soon be here. (To Oswald) Is your lady come?
LEAR	This is a slave whose easy-borrowed pride Dwells in the sickly grace of her a follows. (To Oswald) Out, varlet, from my sight!
CORNWALL	What means your grace?
(didascalia)	Enter Goneril
LEAR	Who stocked my servant? Regan, I have good hope Thou didst not know on’t. Who comes here? O heavens, If you do love old men, if your sweet sway Allow obedience, if you yourselves are old, Make it your cause! Send down and take my part. (To Goneril) Art not ashamed to look upon this beard? O Regan, will you take her by the hand?
GONERIL	Why not by th’ hand, sir? How have I offended? All’s not offence that indiscretion finds And dotage terms so.
LEAR	O sides, you are too tough! Will you yet hold?—How came my man i’th’ stocks?
CORNWALL	I set him there, sir; but his own disorders Deserved much less advancement.
LEAR	You? Did you?
REGAN	I pray you, father, being weak, seem so. If till the expiration of your month You will return and sojourn with my sister, Dismissing half your train, come then to me. I am now from home, and out of that provision Which shall be needful for your entertainment.
LEAR	Return to her, and fifty men dismissed? No, rather I abjure all roofs, and choose To be a comrade with the wolf and owl, To wage against the enmity o’th’ air Necessity’s sharp pinch. Return with her? Why, the hot-blooded France, that dowerless took Our youngest born—I could as well be brought To knee his throne and, squire-like, pension beg To keep base life afoot. Return with her? Persuade me rather to be slave and sumpter To this detested groom.
GONERIL	At your choice, sir.
LEAR	I prithee, daughter, do not make me mad. I will not trouble thee, my child. Farewell. We’ll no more meet, no more see one another. But yet thou art my flesh, my blood, my daughter— Or rather a disease that’s in my flesh, Which I must needs call mine. Thou art a boil, A plague-sore or embossed carbuncle In my corrupted blood. But I’ll not chide thee. Let shame come when it will, I do not call it. I do not bid the thunder-bearer shoot, Nor tell tales of thee to high-judging Jove. Mend when thou canst; be better at thy leisure. I can be patient, I can stay with Regan, I and my hundred knights.
REGAN	Not altogether so. I looked not for you yet, nor am provided For your fit welcome. Give ear, sir, to my sister; For those that mingle reason with your passion Must be content to think you old, and so— But she knows what she does.
LEAR	Is this well spoken?
REGAN	I dare avouch it, sir. What, fifty followers? Is it not well? What should you need of more, Yea, or so many, sith that both charge and danger Speak ‘gainst so great a number? How in one house Should many people under two commands Hold amity? ’Tis hard, almost impossible.
GONERIL	Why might not you, my lord, receive attendance From those that she calls servants, or from mine?
REGAN	Why not, my lord? If then they chanced to slack ye, We could control them. If you will come to me— For now I spy a danger—I entreat you To bring but five-and-twenty; to no more Will I give place or notice.
LEAR	I gave you all.
REGAN	And in good time you gave it.
LEAR	Made you my guardians, my depositaries, But kept a reservation to be followed With such a number. What, must I come to you With five-and-twenty? Regan, said you so?
REGAN	And speak’t again, my lord. No more with me.
LEAR	Those wicked creatures yet do look well favoured When others are more wicked. Not being the worst Stands in some rank of praise. (To Goneril) I’ll go with thee. Thy fifty yet doth double five-and-twenty, And thou art twice her love.
GONERIL	Hear me, my lord. What need you five-and-twenty, ten, or five, To follow in a house where twice so many Have a command to tend you?
REGAN	What need one?
LEAR	O, reason not the need! Our basest beggars Are in the poorest thing superfluous. Allow not nature more than nature needs, Man’s life is cheap as beast’s. Thou art a lady. If only to go warm were gorgeous, Why, nature needs not what thou, gorgeous, wear’st, Which scarcely keeps thee warm. But for true need— You heavens, give me that patience, patience I need. You see me here, you gods, a poor old man, As full of grief as age, wretched in both. If it be you that stirs these daughters’ hearts Against their father, fool me not so much To bear it tamely. Touch me with noble anger, And let not women’s weapons, water-drops, Stain my man’s cheeks. No, you unnatural hags, I will have such revenges on you both That all the world shall—I will do such things— What they are, yet I know not; but they shall be The terrors of the earth. You think I’ll weep. No, I’ll not weep. I have full cause of weeping,
(didascalia)	Storm and tempest
LEAR	But this heart shall break into a hundred thousand flaws Or ere I’ll weep.—O Fool, I shall go mad!
(didascalia)	Exeunt Lear, Fool, Gentleman, and Gloucester
CORNWALL	Let us withdraw. ’Twill be a storm.
REGAN	This house is little. The old man and ’s people Cannot be well bestowed.
GONERIL	’Tis his own blame; Hath put himself from rest, and must needs taste his folly.
REGAN	For his particular I’ll receive him gladly, But not one follower.
GONERIL	So am I purposed. Where is my lord of Gloucester?
CORNWALL	Followed the old man forth.
(didascalia)	Enter the Duke of Gloucester
CORNWALL	He is returned.
GLOUCESTER	The King is in high rage.
CORNWALL	Whither is he going?
GLOUCESTER	He calls to horse, but will I know not whither.
CORNWALL	’Tis best to give him way. He leads himself.
GONERIL	(to Gloucester) My lord, entreat him by no means to stay.
GLOUCESTER	Alack, the night comes on, and the high winds Do sorely ruffle. For many miles about There’s scarce a bush.
REGAN	O sir, to wilful men The injuries that they themselves procure Must be their schoolmasters. Shut up your doors. He is attended with a desperate train, And what they may incense him to, being apt To have his ear abused, wisdom bids fear.
CORNWALL	Shut up your doors, my lord. ‘Tis a wild night. My Regan counsels well. Come out o’th’ storm. Exeunt

Atto 3, Scena 1

Speaker	Line
(didascalia)	Storm still. Enter the Earl of Kent disguised and the First Gentleman, severally
KENT	Who’s there, besides foul weather?
(didascalia)	FIRST GENTLEMAN
KENT	One minded like the weather, Most unquietly.
KENT	I know you. Where’s the King?
(didascalia)	FIRST GENTLEMAN
KENT	Contending with the fretful elements; Bids the wind blow the earth into the sea Or swell the curled waters ’bove the main, That things might change or cease.
KENT	But who is with him?
(didascalia)	FIRST GENTLEMAN
KENT	None but the Fool, who labours to outjest His heart-struck injuries.
KENT	Sir, I do know you, And dare upon the warrant of my note Commend a dear thing to you. There is division, Although as yet the face of it is covered With mutual cunning, ’twixt Albany and Cornwall, Who have—as who have not that their great stars Throned and set high—servants, who seem no less, Which are to France the spies and speculations Intelligent of our state. What hath been seen, Either in snuffs and packings of the Dukes, Or the hard rein which both of them hath borne Against the old kind King; or something deeper, Whereof perchance these are but furnishings—
(didascalia)	FIRST GENTLEMAN
KENT	I will talk further with you.
KENT	No, do not. For confirmation that I am much more Than my out-wall, open this purse, and take What it contains. If you shall see Cordelia— As fear not but you shall—show her this ring And she will tell you who that fellow is That yet you do not know. Fie on this storm! I will go seek the King.
(didascalia)	FIRST GENTLEMAN
KENT	Give me your hand. Have you no more to say?
KENT	Few words, but to effect more than all yet: That when we have found the King—in which your pain That way, I’ll this—he that first lights on him Holla the other.
(didascalia)	Exeunt severally

Atto 3, Scena 2

Speaker	Line
(didascalia)	Storm still. Enter King Lear and his Fool
LEAR	Blow, winds, and crack your cheeks! Rage, blow, You cataracts and hurricanoes, spout Till you have drenched our steeples, drowned the cocks! You sulph‘rous and thought-executing fires, Vaunt-couriers of oak-cleaving thunderbolts, Singe my white head; and thou all-shaking thunder, Strike flat the thick rotundity o’th’ world, Crack nature’s moulds, all germens spill at once That makes ingrateful man.
FOOL	O nuncle, court holy water in a dry house is better than this rain-water out o’ door. Good nuncle, in, ask thy daughters blessing. Here’s a night pities neither wise men nor fools.
LEAR	Rumble thy bellyful; spit, fire; spout, rain. Nor rain, wind, thunder, fire are my daughters. I tax not you, you elements, with unkindness. I never gave you kingdom, called you children. You owe me no subscription. Then let fall Your horrible pleasure. Here I stand your slave, A poor, infirm, weak and despised old man, But yet I call you servile ministers, That will with two pernicious daughters join Your high-engendered battles ‘gainst a head So old and white as this. O, ho, ’tis foul!
FOOL	He that has a house to put ’s head in has a good head-piece.
(didascalia)	Sings
FOOL	The codpiece that will house Before the head has any, The head and he shall louse, So beggars marry many. The man that makes his toe What he his heart should make Shall of a corn cry woe, And turn his sleep to wake— for there was never yet fair woman but she made mouths in a glass.
(didascalia)	Enter the Earl of Kent disguised
LEAR	No, I will be the pattern of all patience. I will say nothing.
KENT	Who’s there?
FOOL	Marry, here’s grace and a codpiece—that’s a wise man and a fool.
KENT	(to Lear) Alas, sir, are you here? Things that love night Love not such nights as these. The wrathful skies Gallow the very wanderers of the dark And make them keep their caves. Since I was man Such sheets of fire, such bursts of horrid thunder, Such groans of roaring wind and rain I never Remember to have heard. Man’s nature cannot carry Th’affliction nor the fear.
LEAR	Let the great gods, That keep this dreadful pother o’er our heads, Find out their enemies now. Tremble, thou wretch That hast within thee undivulgèd crimes Unwhipped of justice; hide thee, thou bloody hand, Thou perjured and thou simular of virtue That art incestuous; caitiff, to pieces shake, That under covert and convenient seeming Has practised on man’s life; close pent-up guilts, Rive your concealing continents and cry These dreadful summoners grace. I am a man More sinned against than sinning.
KENT	Alack, bare-headed? Gracious my lord, hard by here is a hovel. Some friendship will it lend you ‘gainst the tempest. Repose you there while I to this hard house— More harder than the stones whereof ’tis raised, Which even but now, demanding after you, Denied me to come in—return and force Their scanted courtesy.
LEAR	My wits begin to turn. (To Fool) Come on, my boy. How dost, my boy? Art cold? I am cold myself.—Where is this straw, my fellow? The art of our necessities is strange, And can make vile things precious. Come, your hovel.— Poor fool and knave, I have one part in my heart That’s sorry yet for thee.
(didascalia)	FOOL Sings
LEAR	He that has and a little tiny wit, With heigh-ho, the wind and the rain, Must make content with his fortunes fit, Though the rain it raineth every day.
LEAR	True, boy. (To Kent) Come, bring us to this hovel.
(didascalia)	Exeunt Lear and Kent
FOOL	This is a brave night to cool a courtesan. I’ll speak a prophecy ere I go: When priests are more in word than matter; When brewers mar their malt with water; When nobles are their tailors’ tutors, No heretics burned, but wenches’ suitors, Then shall the realm of Albion Come to great confusion. When every case in law is right; No squire in debt nor no poor knight; When slanders do not live in tongues, Nor cutpurses come not to throngs; When usurers tell their gold i‘th’ field, And bawds and whores do churches build, Then comes the time, who lives to see’t, That going shall be used with feet. This prophecy Merlin shall make; for I live before his time.
(didascalia)	Exit

Atto 3, Scena 3

Speaker	Line
(didascalia)	Enter the Duke of Gloucester and Edmond
GLOUCESTER	Alack, alack, Edmond, I like not this unnatural dealing. When I desired their leave that I might pity him, they took from me the use of mine own house, charged me on pain of perpetual displeasure neither to speak of him, entreat for him, or any way sustain him.
EDMOND	Most savage and unnatural!
GLOUCESTER	Go to, say you nothing. There is division between the Dukes, and a worse matter than that. I have received a letter this night—‘tis dangerous to be spoken—I have locked the letter in my closet. These injuries the King now bears will be revenged home. There is part of a power already footed. We must incline to the King. I will look him and privily relieve him. Go you and maintain talk with the Duke, that my charity be not of him perceived. If he ask for me, I am ill and gone to bed. If I die for’t—as no less is threatened me—the King my old master must be relieved. There is strange things toward, Edmond; pray you be careful. Exit
EDMOND	This courtesy, forbid thee, shall the Duke Instantly know, and of that letter too. This seems a fair deserving, and must draw me That which my father loses: no less than all. The younger rises when the old doth fall. Exit

Atto 3, Scena 4

Speaker	Line
(didascalia)	Enter King Lear, the Earl of Kent disguised, and Lear’s Fool
KENT	Here is the place, my lord. Good my lord, enter. The tyranny of the open night’s too rough For nature to endure.
(didascalia)	Storm still
LEAR	Let me alone.
KENT	Good my lord, enter here.
LEAR	Wilt break my heart?
KENT	I had rather break mine own. Good my lord, enter.
LEAR	Thou think‘st ’tis much that this contentious storm Invades us to the skin. So ‘tis to thee; But where the greater malady is fixed, The lesser is scarce felt. Thou’dst shun a bear, But if thy flight lay toward the roaring sea Thou‘dst meet the bear i’th’ mouth. When the mind’s free, The body’s delicate. This tempest in my mind Doth from my senses take all feeling else Save what beats there: filial ingratitude. Is it not as this mouth should tear this hand For lifting food to’t? But I will punish home. No, I will weep no more.—In such a night To shut me out? Pour on, I will endure. In such a night as this! O Regan, Goneril, Your old kind father, whose frank heart gave all— O, that way madness lies. Let me shun that. No more of that.
KENT	Good my lord, enter here.
LEAR	Prithee, go in thyself. Seek thine own ease. This tempest will not give me leave to ponder On things would hurt me more; but I’ll go in.
(didascalia)	(To Fool) In, boy; go first. Kneeling You houseless
LEAR	poverty— Nay, get thee in. I’ll pray, and then I’ll sleep.
(didascalia)	Exit Fool
LEAR	Poor naked wretches, wheresoe‘er you are, That bide the pelting of this pitiless storm, How shall your houseless heads and unfed sides, Your looped and windowed raggedness, defend you From seasons such as these? O, I have ta’en Too little care of this. Take physic, pomp, Expose thyself to feel what wretches feel, That thou mayst shake the superflux to them And show the heavens more just.
(didascalia)	Enter Lear’s Fool, and Edgar as a Bedlam beggar in the hovel
EDGAR	Fathom and half! Fathom and half! Poor Tom!
FOOL	Come not in here, nuncle. Here’s a spirit. Help me, help me!
KENT	Give me thy hand. Who’s there? FOOL A spirit, a spirit. He says his name’s Poor Tom.
KENT	What art thou that dost grumble there i’th’ straw? Come forth.
(didascalia)	Edgar comes forth
EDGAR	Away, the foul fiend follows me. Thorough the sharp hawthorn blow the winds. Hm! Go to thy cold bed and warm thee.
LEAR	Didst thou give all to thy two daughters, And art thou come to this?
EDGAR	Who gives anything to Poor Tom, whom the foul fiend hath led through fire and through flame, through ford and whirlpool, o’er bog and quagmire; that hath laid knives under his pillow and halters in his pew, set ratsbane by his porridge, made him proud of heart to ride on a bay trotting-horse over four-inched bridges, to course his own shadow for a traitor. Bless thy five wits, Tom’s a-cold! O, do, de, do, de, do de. Bless thee from whirlwinds, star-blasting, and taking. Do Poor Tom some charity, whom the foul fiend vexes. There could I have him now, and there, and there again, and there.
(didascalia)	Storm still
LEAR	Has his daughters brought him to this pass? (To Edgar) Couldst thou save nothing? Wouldst thou give ’em all?
FOOL	Nay, he reserved a blanket, else we had been all shamed.
LEAR	(to Edgar) Now all the plagues that in the pendulous air Hang fated o’er men’s faults light on thy daughters!
KENT	He hath no daughters, sir.
LEAR	Death, traitor! Nothing could have subdued nature To such a lowness but his unkind daughters. (To Edgar) Is it the fashion that discarded fathers Should have thus little mercy on their flesh? Judicious punishment: ’twas this flesh begot Those pelican daughters.
EDGAR	Pillicock sat on Pillicock Hill; alow, alow, loo, loo.
FOOL	This cold night will turn us all to fools and madmen.
EDGAR	Take heed o’th’ foul fiend; obey thy parents; keep thy words’ justice; swear not; commit not with man’s sworn spouse; set not thy sweet heart on proud array. Tom’s a-cold.
LEAR	What hast thou been?
EDGAR	A servingman, proud in heart and mind, that curled my hair, wore gloves in my cap, served the lust of my mistress’ heart, and did the act of darkness with her; swore as many oaths as I spake words, and broke them in the sweet face of heaven; one that slept in the contriving of lust, and waked to do it. Wine loved I deeply, dice dearly, and in woman out-paramoured the Turk. False of heart, light of ear, bloody of hand; hog in sloth, fox in stealth, wolf in greediness, dog in madness, lion in prey. Let not the creaking of shoes nor the rustling of silks betray thy poor heart to woman. Keep thy foot out of brothels, thy hand out of plackets, thy pen from lenders’ books, and defy the foul fiend. Still through the hawthorn blows the cold wind, says suum, mun, nonny. Dauphin, my boy! Boy, cessez; let him trot by.
(didascalia)	Storm still
LEAR	Thou wert better in a grave than to answer with thy uncovered body this extremity of the skies. Is man no. more than this? Consider him well. Thou owest the worm no silk, the beast no hide, the sheep no wool, the cat no perfume. Ha, here’s three on ’s are sophisticated; thou art the thing itself. Unaccommodated man is no more but such a poor, bare, forked animal as thou art. Off, off, you lendings! Come, unbutton here.
(didascalia)	Enter the Duke of Gloucester with a torch
FOOL	Prithee, nuncle, be contented. ’Tis a naughty night to swim in. Now a little fire in a wild field were like an old lecher’s heart—a small spark, all the rest on ’s body cold. Look, here comes a walking fire.
(didascalia)	EDGAR This is the foul fiend Flibbertigibbet. He begins at curfew and walks till the first cock. He gives the web and the pin, squints the eye, and makes the harelip; mildews the white wheat, and hurts the poor creature of earth. Sings
FOOL	Swithin footed thrice the wold, A met the night mare and her nine foal, Bid her alight And her troth plight, And aroint thee, witch, aroint thee!
KENT	(to Lear) How fares your grace?
LEAR	What’s he?
KENT	(to Gloucester) Who’s there? What is’t you seek?
GLOUCESTER	What are you there? Your names?
EDGAR	Poor Tom, that eats the swimming frog, the toad, the tadpole, the wall-newt and the water; that in the fury of his heart, when the foul fiend rages, eats cowdung for salads, swallows the old rat and the ditch-dog, drinks the green mantle of the standing pool; who is whipped from tithing to tithing, and stocked, punished, and imprisoned; who hath had three suits to his back, six shirts to his body, Horse to ride, and weapon to wear; But mice and rats and such small deer Have been Tom’s food for seven long year. Beware my follower. Peace, Smulkin; peace, thou fiend!
GLOUCESTER	(to Lear) What, hath your grace no better company?
EDGAR	The Prince of Darkness is a gentleman. Modo he’s called, and Mahu.
GLOUCESTER	(to Lear) Our flesh and blood, my lord, is grown so vile That it doth hate what gets it.
EDGAR	Poor Tom’s a-cold.
GLOUCESTER	(to Lear) Go in with me. My duty cannot suffer T’obey in all your daughters’ hard commands. Though their injunction be to bar my doors And let this tyrannous night take hold upon you, Yet have I ventured to come seek you out And bring you where both fire and food is ready.
LEAR	First let me talk with this philosopher. (To Edgar) What is the cause of thunder?
KENT	Good my lord, take his offer; go into th’ house.
LEAR	I’ll talk a word with this same learned Theban. (To Edgar) What is your study?
EDGAR	How to prevent the fiend, and to kill vermin.
LEAR	Let me ask you one word in private. They converse apart
KENT	(to Gloucester) Importune him once more to go, my lord. His wits begin t’unsettle.
GLOUCESTER	Canst thou blame him?
(didascalia)	Storm still
GLOUCESTER	His daughters seek his death. Ah, that good Kent, He said it would be thus, poor banished man! Thou sayst the King grows mad; I’ll tell thee, friend, I am almost mad myself. I had a son, Now outlawed from my blood; a sought my life But lately, very late. I loved him, friend; No father his son dearer. True to tell thee, The grief hath crazed my wits. What a night’s this! (To Lear) I do beseech your grace—
LEAR	O, cry you mercy, sir! (To Edgar) Noble philosopher, your company.
EDGAR	Tom’s a-cold.
GLOUCESTER	In, fellow, there in t’hovel; keep thee warm.
LEAR	Come, let’s in all.
KENT	This way, my lord.
LEAR	With him! I will keep still with my philosopher.
KENT	(to Gloucester) Good my lord, soothe him; let him take the fellow.
GLOUCESTER	Take him you on.
(didascalia)	KENT to Edgar
GLOUCESTER	Sirrah, come on. Go along with us.
LEAR	(to Edgar) Come, good Athenian.
GLOUCESTER	No words, no words. Hush.
EDGAR	Child Roland to the dark tower came, His word was still ‘Fie, fo, and fum; I smell the blood of a British man.’
(didascalia)	Exeunt

Atto 3, Scena 5

Speaker	Line
(didascalia)	Enter the Duke of Cornwall and Edmond
CORNWALL	I will have my revenge ere I depart his house.
EDMOND	How, my lord, I may be censured, that nature thus gives way to loyalty, something fears me to think of.
CORNWALL	I now perceive it was not altogether your brother’s evil disposition made him seek his death, but a provoking merit set a-work by a reprovable badness in himself. 8
EDMOND	How malicious is my fortune, that I must repent to be just! This is the letter which he spoke of, which approves him an intelligent party to the advantages of France. O heavens, that this treason were not, or not I the detector!
CORNWALL	Go with me to the Duchess.
EDMOND	If the matter of this paper be certain, you have mighty business in hand.
CORNWALL	True or false, it hath made thee Earl of Gloucester. Seek out where thy father is, that he may be ready for our apprehension.
(didascalia)	EDMOND aside If I find him comforting the King, it will stuff his suspicion more fully. (To Cornwall) I will persever in my course of loyalty, though the conflict be sore between that and my blood.
CORNWALL	I will lay trust upon thee, and thou shalt find a dearer father in my love. Exeunt

Atto 3, Scena 6

Speaker	Line
(didascalia)	Enter the Earl of Kent disguised, and the Duke of Gloucester
GLOUCESTER	Here is better than the open air; take it thankfully. I will piece out the comfort with what addition I can. I will not be long from you.
KENT	All the power of his wits have given way to his impatience; the gods reward your kindness!
(didascalia)	Exit Gloucester
(didascalia)	Enter King Lear, Edgar as a Bedlam beggar, and Lear’s Fool
EDGAR	Frateretto calls me, and tells me Nero is an angler in the lake of darkness. Pray, innocent, and beware the foul fiend.
FOOL	Prithee, nuncle, tell me whether a madman be a gentleman or a yeoman.
LEAR	A king, a king!
FOOL	No, he’s a yeoman that has a gentleman to his son; for he’s a mad yeoman that sees his son a gentleman before him.
LEAR	To have a thousand with red burning spits Come hissing in upon ’em!
EDGAR	Bless thy five wits.
KENT	(to Lear) O, pity! Sir, where is the patience now That you so oft have boasted to retain?
EDGAR	(aside) My tears begin to take his part so much They mar my counterfeiting.
LEAR	The little dogs and all, Tray, Blanch, and Sweetheart—see, they bark at me.
EDGAR	Tom will throw his head at them.—Avaunt, you curs! Be thy mouth or black or white, Tooth that poisons if it bite, Mastiff, greyhound, mongrel grim, Hound or spaniel, brach or him, Bobtail tyke or trundle-tail, Tom will make him weep and wail; For with throwing thus my head, Dogs leapt the hatch, and all are fled. Do, de, de, de. Sese! Come, march to wakes and fairs And market towns. Poor Tom, thy horn is dry.
LEAR	Then let them anatomize Regan; see what breeds about her heart. Is there any cause in nature that makes these hard-hearts? (To Edgar) You, sir, I entertain for one of my hundred, only I do not like the fashion of your garments. You will say they are Persian; but let them be changed.
KENT	Now, good my lord, lie here and rest a while.
LEAR	Make no noise, make no noise. Draw the curtains. So, so. We’ll go to supper i’th’ morning.
(didascalia)	He steps
FOOL	And I’ll go to bed at noon.
(didascalia)	Enter the Duke of Gloucester
GLOUCESTER	(to Kent) Come hither, friend. Where is the King my master?
KENT	Here, sir, but trouble him not; his wits are gone.
GLOUCESTER	Good friend, I prithee take him in thy arms. I have o’erheard a plot of death upon him. There is a litter ready. Lay him in’t And drive toward Dover, friend, where thou shalt meet Both welcome and protection. Take up thy master. If thou shouldst dally half an hour, his life, With thine and all that offer to defend him, Stand in assured loss. Take up, take up, And follow me, that will to some provision Give thee quick conduct. Come, come away.
(didascalia)	Exeunt, Kent carrying Lear in his arms

Atto 3, Scena 7

Speaker	Line
(didascalia)	Enter the Duke of Cornwall, Regan, Goneril, Edmond the bastard, and Servants
CORNWALL	(to Goneril) Post speedily to my lord your husband. Show him this letter. The army of France is landed. (To Servants) Seek out the traitor Gloucester.
(didascalia)	Exeunt some
REGAN	Hang him instantly.
GONERIL	Pluck out his eyes.
CORNWALL	Leave him to my displeasure. Edmond, keep you our sister company. The revenges we are bound to take upon your traitorous father are not fit for your beholding. Advise the Duke where you are going, to a most festinate preparation; we are bound to the like. Our posts shall be swift and intelligent betwixt us. (To Goneril) Farewell, dear sister. (To Edmond) Farewell, my lord of Gloucester.
(didascalia)	Enter Oswald the steward
CORNWALL	How now, where’s the King?
OSWALD	My lord of Gloucester hath conveyed him hence. Some five- or six-and-thirty of his knights, Hot questrists after him, met him at gate, Who, with some other of the lord’s dependants, Are gone with him toward Dover, where they boast To have well-armèd friends.
CORNWALL	Get horses for your mistress.
(didascalia)	Exit Oswald
GONERIL	Farewell, sweet lord, and sister.
CORNWALL	Edmond, farewell.
(didascalia)	Exeunt Goneril and Edmond
CORNWALL	(To Servants) Go seek the traitor Gloucester. Pinion him like a thief; bring him before us.
(didascalia)	Exeunt other Servants
CORNWALL	Though well we may not pass upon his life Without the form of justice, yet our power Shall do a curtsy to our wrath, which men May blame but not control.
(didascalia)	Enter the Duke of Gloucester and Servants
CORNWALL	Who’s there—the traitor?
REGAN	Ingrateful fox, ’tis he.
CORNWALL	(to Servants) Bind fast his corky arms.
GLOUCESTER	What means your graces? Good my friends, consider You are my guests. Do me no foul play, friends.
CORNWALL	(to Servants) Bind him, I say.
REGAN	Hard, hard! O filthy traitor!
GLOUCESTER	Unmerciful lady as you are, I’m none.
CORNWALL	(to Servants) To this chair bind him. (To Gloucester) Villain, thou shalt find— Regan plucks Gloucester’s beard
GLOUCESTER	By the kind gods, ’tis most ignobly done, To pluck me by the beard.
REGAN	So white, and such a traitor?
GLOUCESTER	Naughty lady, These hairs which thou dost ravish from my chin Will quicken and accuse thee. I am your host. With robbers’ hands my hospitable favours You should not ruffle thus. What will you do?
CORNWALL	Come, sir, what letters had you late from France?
REGAN	Be simple-answered, for we know the truth.
CORNWALL	And what confederacy have you with the traitors Late footed in the kingdom?
REGAN	To whose hands You have sent the lunatic King. Speak.
GLOUCESTER	I have a letter guessingly set down, Which came from one that’s of a neutral heart, And not from one opposed.
CORNWALL	Cunning.
REGAN	And false.
CORNWALL	Where hast thou sent the King?
GLOUCESTER	To Dover.
REGAN	Wherefore to Dover? Wast thou not charged at peril—
CORNWALL	Wherefore to Dover?—Let him answer that.
GLOUCESTER	I am tied to th’ stake, and I must stand the course.
REGAN	Wherefore to Dover?
GLOUCESTER	Because I would not see thy cruel nails Pluck out his poor old eyes, nor thy fierce sister In his anointed flesh stick boarish fangs. The sea, with such a storm as his bare head In hell-black night endured, would have buoyed up And quenched the stellèd fires. Yet, poor old heart, he holp the heavens to rain. If wolves had at thy gate howled that stern time, Thou shouldst have said ‘Good porter, turn the key; All cruels I’ll subscribe.’ But I shall see The winged vengeance overtake such children.
CORNWALL	See’t shalt thou never.—Fettows, hold the chair.— Upon these eyes of thine I’ll set my foot.
GLOUCESTER	He that will think to live till he be old Give me some help!—O cruel! O you gods!
(didascalia)	Cornwall pulls out one of Gloucester’s eyes and stamps on it
REGAN	(to Cornwall) One side will mock another; th’other, too.
CORNWALL	(to Gloucester) If you see vengeance—
SERVANT	Hold your hand, my lord. I have served you ever since I was a child, But better service have I never done you Than now to bid you hold.
REGAN	How now, you dog!
SERVANT	If you did wear a beard upon your chin
(didascalia)	I’d shake it on this quarrel. To Cornwall What do
SERVANT	you mean?
CORNWALL	My villein!
SERVANT	Nay then, come on, and take the chance of anger. They draw and fight
REGAN	(to another Servant) Give me thy sword. A peasant stand up thus!
(didascalia)	She takes a sword and runs at him behind
SERVANT	(to Gloucester) O, I am slain. My lord, you have one eye left To see some mischief on him.
(didascalia)	Regan stabs him again
SERVANT	O! He dies
CORNWALL	Lest it see more, prevent it. Out, vile jelly!
(didascalia)	He pulls out Gloucester’s other eye
CORNWALL	Where is thy lustre now?
GLOUCESTER	All dark and comfortless. Where’s my son Edmond? Edmond, enkindle all the sparks of nature To quite this horrid act.
REGAN	Out, treacherous villain! Thou call’st on him that hates thee. It was he That made the overture of thy treasons to us, Who is too good to pity thee.
GLOUCESTER	O, my follies! Then Edgar was abused. Kind gods, forgive me that, and prosper him!
REGAN	(to Servants) Go thrust him out at gates, and let him smell His way to Dover.
(didascalia)	Exit one or more with Gloucester
REGAN	How is’t, my lord? How look you?
CORNWALL	I have received a hurt. Follow me, lady. (To Servants) Turn out that eyeless villain. Throw this slave Upon the dunghill. Regan, I bleed apace. Untimely comes this hurt. Give me your arm.
(didascalia)	Exeunt with the body

Atto 4, Scena 1

Speaker	Line
(didascalia)	Enter Edgar as a Bedlam beggar
EDGAR	Yet better thus and known to be contemned Than still contemned and flattered. To be worst, The low’st and most dejected thing of fortune, Stands still in esperance, lives not in fear. The lamentable change is from the best; The worst returns to laughter. Welcome, then, Thou unsubstantial air that I embrace. The wretch that thou hast blown unto the worst Owes nothing to thy blasts.
(didascalia)	Enter the Duke of Gloucester led by an Old Man
EDGAR	But who comes here? My father, parti-eyed? World, world, O world! But that thy strange mutations make us hate thee, Life would not yield to age.
(didascalia)	Edgar stands aside
OLD MAN	(to Gloucester) O my good lord, I have been your tenant and your father’s tenant These fourscore years.
GLOUCESTER	Away, get thee away, good friend, be gone. Thy comforts can do me no good at all; Thee they may hurt.
OLD MAN	You cannot see your way.
GLOUCESTER	I have no way, and therefore want no eyes. I stumbled when I saw. Full oft ’tis seen Our means secure us, and our mere defects Prove our commodities. O dear son Edgar, The food of thy abused father’s wrath- Might I but live to see thee in my touch I’d say I had eyes again.
OLD MAN	How, now? Who’s there?
EDGAR	(aside) O gods! Who is’t can say ‘I am at the worst’? I am worse than e’er I was.
OLD MAN	(to Gloucester) ’Tis poor mad Tom.
EDGAR	(aside) And worse I may be yet. The worst is not So long as we can say ‘This is the worst.’
OLD MAN	(to Edgar) Fellow, where goest?
GLOUCESTER	Is it a beggarman?
OLD MAN	Madman and beggar too.
GLOUCESTER	A has some reason, else he could not beg. I’th’ last night’s storm I such a fellow saw, Which made me think a man a worm. My son Came then into my mind, and yet my mind Was then scarce friends with him. I have heard more since. As flies to wanton boys are we to th’ gods; They kill us for their sport.
EDGAR	(aside) How should this be? Bad is the trade that must play fool to sorrow, Ang’ring itself and others.
(didascalia)	He comes forward
EDGAR	Bless thee, master.
GLOUCESTER	Is that the naked fellow?
OLD MAN	Ay, my lord.
GLOUCESTER	Get thee away. If for my sake Thou wilt o‘ertake us hence a mile or twain I’th’ way toward Dover, do it for ancient love, And bring some covering for this naked soul, Which I’ll entreat to lead me.
OLD MAN	Alack, sir, he is mad.
GLOUCESTER	’Tis the time’s plague when madmen lead the blind. Do as I bid thee; or rather do thy pleasure. Above the rest, be gone.
OLD MAN	I’ll bring him the best ’parel that I have, so Come on’t what will. Exit
GLOUCESTER	Sirrah, naked fellow!
EDGAR	Poor Tom’s a-cold. (Aside) I cannot daub it further.
GLOUCESTER	Come hither, fellow.
EDGAR	(aside) And yet I must. (To Gloucester) Bless thy sweet eyes, they bleed.
GLOUCESTER	Know’st thou the way to Dover?
EDGAR	Both stile and gate, horseway and footpath. Poor Tom hath been scared out of his good wits. Bless thee, goodman’s son, from the foul fiend.
GLOUCESTER	Here, take this purse, thou whom the heavens’ plagues Have humbled to all strokes. That I am wretched Makes thee the happier. Heavens deal so still. Let the superfluous and lust-dieted man That slaves your ordinance, that will not see Because he does not feel, feel your power quickly. So distribution should undo excess, And each man have enough. Dost thou know Dover?
EDGAR	Ay, master.
GLOUCESTER	There is a cliff whose high and bending head Looks fearfully in the confined deep. Bring me but to the very brim of it And I’ll repair the misery thou dost bear With something rich about me. From that place I shall no leading need.
EDGAR	Give me thy arm. Poor Tom shall lead thee.
(didascalia)	Exit Edgar guiding Gloucester

Atto 4, Scena 2

Speaker	Line
(didascalia)	Enter Goneril and Edmond the bastard at one door and Oswald the steward at another
GONERIL	Welcome, my lord. I marvel our mild husband Not met us on the way. (To Oswald) Now, where’s your master?
OSWALD	Madam, within; but never man so changed. I told him of the army that was landed; He smiled at it. I told him you were coming; His answer was ‘The worse’. Of Gloucester’s treachery And of the loyal service of his son When I informed him, then he called me sot, And told me I had turned the wrong side out. What most he should dislike seems pleasant to him; What like, offensive.
GONERIL	(to Edmond) Then shall you go no further. It is the cowish terror of his spirit That dares not undertake. He’ll not feel wrongs Which tie him to an answer. Our wishes on the way May prove effects. Back, Edmond, to my brother. Hasten his musters and conduct his powers. I must change names at home, and give the distaff Into my husband’s hands. This trusty servant Shall pass between us. Ere long you are like to hear, If you dare venture in your own behalf, A mistress’s command. Wear this. Spare speech. Decline your head. This kiss, if it durst speak, Would stretch thy spirits up into the air.
(didascalia)	She kisses him
GONERIL	Conceive, and fare thee well.
EDMOND	Yours in the ranks of death.
GONERIL	My most dear Gloucester.
(didascalia)	Exit
GONERIL	Edmond O, the difference of man and man! To thee a woman’s services are due; My fool usurps my body.
OSWALD	Madam, here comes my lord.
(didascalia)	Enter the Duke of
OSWALD	Albany
GONERIL	I have been worth the whistling.
ALBANY	O Goneril, You are not worth the dust which the rude wind Blows in your face.
GONERIL	Milk-livered man, That bear’st a cheek for blows, a head for wrongs; Who hast not in thy brows an eye discerning Thine honour from thy suffering—
ALBANY	See thyself, devil. Proper deformity shows not in the fiend So horrid as in woman.
GONERIL	O vain fool!
(didascalia)	Enter a Messenger
MESSENGER	O my good lord, the Duke of Cornwall’s dead, Slain by his servant going to put out The other eye of Gloucester.
ALBANY	Gloucester’s eyes?
MESSENGER	A servant that he bred, thrilled with remorse, Opposed against the act, bending his sword To his great master, who thereat enraged Flew on him, and amongst them felled him dead, But not without that harmful stroke which since Hath plucked him after.
ALBANY	This shows you are above, You justicers, that these our nether crimes So speedily can venge. But O, poor Gloucester! Lost he his other eye?
MESSENGER	Both, both, my lord.—µ This letter, madam, craves a speedy answer. ’Tis from your sister.
GONERIL	(aside) One way I like this well; But being widow, and my Gloucester with her, May all the building in my fancy pluck Upon my hateful life. Another way The news is not so tart.—I’ll read and answer.
(didascalia)	Exit
(didascalia)	with Oswald
ALBANY	Where was his son when they did take his eyes?
MESSENGER	Come with my lady hither.
ALBANY	He is not here.
MESSENGER	No, my good lord; I met him back again.
ALBANY	Knows he the wickedness?
MESSENGER	Ay, my good lord; ’twas he informed against him, And quit the house on purpose that their punishment Might have the freer course.
ALBANY	Gloucester, I live To thank thee for the love thou showed‘st the King, And to revenge thine eyes.—Come hither, friend. Tell me what more thou know’st.
(didascalia)	Exeunt

Atto 4, Scena 3

Speaker	Line
(didascalia)	Enter with a drummer and colours, Queen Cordelia, Gentlemen, and soldiers
CORDELIA	Alack, ’tis he! Why, he was met even now, As mad as the vexed sea, singing aloud, Crowned with rank fumitor and furrow-weeds, With burdocks, hemlock, nettles, cuckoo-flowers, Darnel, and all the idle weeds that grow In our sustaining corn. A century send forth. Search every acre in the high-grown field, And bring him to our eye.
(didascalia)	Exit
(didascalia)	one or more
CORDELIA	What can man’s wisdom In the restoring his He that helps him take all my outward worth.
(didascalia)	FIRSTGENTLEMAN There is means, madam.
CORDELIA	Our foster-nurse of nature is repose, The which he lacks. That to provoke in him Are many simples operative, whose power Will close the eye of anguish.
CORDELIA	All blest secrets, All you unpublished virtues of the earth, Spring with my tears, be aidant and remediate In the good man’s distress!—Seek, seek for him, Lest his ungoverned rage dissolve the life That wants the means to lead it.
(didascalia)	Enter
CORDELIA	a Messenger
MESSENGER	News, madam. The British powers are marching hitherward.
CORDELIA	’Tis known before; our preparation stands In expectation of them.—O dear father, It is thy business that I go about; Therefore great France My mourning and importuned tears hath pitied. No blown ambition doth our arms incite, But love, dear love, and our aged father’s right. Soon may I hear and see him!
(didascalia)	Exeunt

Atto 4, Scena 4

Speaker	Line
(didascalia)	Enter Regan and Oswald the steward
REGAN	But are my brother’s powers set forth?
OSWALD	Ay, madam.
REGAN	Himself in person there?
OSWALD	Madam, with much ado. Your sister is the better soldier.
REGAN	Lord Edmond spake not with your lord at home?
OSWALD	No, madam.
REGAN	What might import my sister’s letters to him?
OSWALD	I know not, lady.
REGAN	Faith, he is posted hence on serious matter. It was great ignorance, Gloucester’s eyes being out, To let him live. Where he arrives he moves All hearts against us. Edmond, I think, is gone, In pity of his misery, to dispatch His ‘nighted life, moreover to descry The strength o’th’ enemy.
OSWALD	I must needs after, madam, with my letter.
REGAN	Our troops set forth tomorrow. Stay with us. The ways are dangerous.
OSWALD	I may not, madam. My lady charged my duty in this business.
REGAN	Why should she write to Edmond? Might not you Transport her purposes by word? Belike— Some things—I know not what. I’ll love thee much: Let me unseal the letter.
OSWALD	Madam, I had rather—
REGAN	I know your lady does not love her husband. I am sure of that, and at her late being here She gave strange oeillades and most speaking looks To noble Edmond. I know you are of her bosom.
OSWALD	I, madam?
REGAN	I speak in understanding. Y’are, I know’t. Therefore I do advise you take this note. My lord is dead. Edmond and I have talked, And more convenient is he for my hand Than for your lady’s. You may gather more. If you do find him, pray you give him this, And when your mistress hears thus much from you, I pray desire her call her wisdom to her. So, fare you well. If you do chance to hear of that blind traitor, Preferment falls on him that cuts him off.
OSWALD	Would I could meet him, madam. I should show What party I do follow.
REGAN	Fare thee well.
(didascalia)	Exeunt severally

Atto 4, Scena 5

Speaker	Line
(didascalia)	Enter Edgar disguised as a peasant, with a staff, guiding the blind Duke of Gloucester
GLOUCESTER	When shall I come to th’ top of that same hill?
EDGAR	You do climb up it now. Look how we labour.
GLOUCESTER	Methinks the ground is even.
EDGAR	Horrible steep. Hark, do you hear the sea?
GLOUCESTER	No, truly.
EDGAR	Why, then your other senses grow imperfect By your eyes’ anguish.
GLOUCESTER	So may it be indeed. Methinks thy voice is altered, and thou speak’st In better phrase and matter than thou didst.
EDGAR	You’re much deceived. In nothing am I changed But in my garments.
GLOUCESTER	Methinks you’re better spoken.
EDGAR	Come on, sir, here’s the place. Stand still. How fearful And dizzy ‘tis to cast one’s eyes so low! The crows and choughs that wing the midway air Show scarce so gross as beetles. Halfway down Hangs one that gathers samphire, dreadful trade! Methinks he seems no bigger than his head. The fishermen that walk upon the beach Appear like mice, and yon tall anchoring barque Diminished to her cock, her cock a buoy Almost too small for sight. The murmuring surge That on th’unnumbered idle pebble chafes Cannot be heard so high. I’ll look no more, Lest my brain turn and the deficient sight Topple down headlong.
GLOUCESTER	Set me where you stand.
EDGAR	Give me your hand. You are now within a foot Of th’extreme verge. For all beneath the moon Would I not leap upright.
GLOUCESTER	Let go my hand. Here, friend, ’s another purse; in it a jewel Well worth a poor man’s taking. Fairies and gods Prosper it with thee! Go thou further off. Bid me farewell, and let me hear thee going.
EDGAR	Now fare ye well, good sir. He stands aside
GLOUCESTER	With all my heart.
EDGAR	(aside) Why I do trifle thus with his despair Is done to cure it.
GLOUCESTER	(keeling) O you mighty gods, This world I do renounce, and in your sights Shake patiently my great affliction off! If I could bear it longer, and not fall To quarrel with your great opposeless wills, My snuff and loathed part of nature should Burn itself out. If Edgar live, O bless him!— Now, fellow, fare thee well.
EDGAR	Gone, sir. Farewell. Gloucester falls forward (Aside) And yet I know not how conceit may rob The treasury of life, when life itself Yields to the theft. Had he been where he thought, By this had thought been past.—Alive or dead? (To Gloucester) Ho, you, sir, friend; hear you, sir? Speak. (Aside) Thus might he pass indeed. Yet he revives. (To Gloucester) What are you, sir?
GLOUCESTER	Away, and let me die.
EDGAR	Hadst thou been aught but gossamer, feathers, air, So many fathom down precipitating Thou‘dst shivered like an egg. But thou dost breathe, Hast heavy substance, bleed’st not, speak’st, art sound. Ten masts a-length make not the altitude Which thou hast perpendicularly fell. Thy life’s a miracle. Speak yet again.
GLOUCESTER	But have I fall’n, or no?
EDGAR	From the dread summit of this chalky bourn. Look up a-height. The shrill-gorged lark so far Cannot be seen or heard. Do but look up.
GLOUCESTER	Alack, I have no eyes. Is wretchedness deprived that benefit To end itself by death? ’Twas yet some comfort When misery could beguile the tyrant’s rage And frustrate his proud will.
EDGAR	Give me your arm. Up, so. How is’t? Feel you your legs? You stand.
GLOUCESTER	Too well, too well.
EDGAR	This is above all strangeness. Upon the crown o’th’ cliff what thing was that Which parted from you?
GLOUCESTER	A poor unfortunate beggar.
EDGAR	As I stood here below, methoughts his eyes Were two full moons. He had a thousand noses, Horns whelked and waved like the enraged sea. It was some fiend. Therefore, thou happy father, Think that the clearest gods, who make them honours Of men’s impossibilities, have preserved thee.
GLOUCESTER	I do remember now. Henceforth I’ll bear Affliction till it do cry out itself ‘Enough, enough,’ and die. That thing you speak of, I took it for a man. Often ‘twould say ‘The fiend, the fiend!’ He led me to that place.
EDGAR	Bear free and patient thoughts.
(didascalia)	Enter King Lear mad, crowned with weeds and flowers
EDGAR	But who comes here? The safer sense will ne’er accommodate His master thus.
LEAR	No, they cannot touch me for crying. I am the King himself.
EDGAR	O thou side-piercing sight!
LEAR	Nature’s above art in that respect. There’s your press-money. That fellow handles his bow like a crow-keeper. Draw me a clothier’s yard. Look, look, a mouse! Peace, peace, this piece of toasted cheese will do’t. There’s my gauntlet. I’ll prove it on a giant. Bring up the brown bills. O, well flown, bird, i‘th’ clout, i’th’ clout! Whew! Give the word.
EDGAR	Sweet marjoram.
LEAR	Pass.
GLOUCESTER	I know that voice.
LEAR	Ha! Goneril with a white beard? They flattered me like a dog, and told me I had the white hairs in my beard ere the black ones were there. To say ‘ay’ and ‘no’ to everything that I said ‘ay’ and ‘no’ to was no good divinity. When the rain came to wet me once, and the wind to make me chatter; when the thunder would not peace at my bidding, there I found ‘em, there I smelt ’em out. Go to, they are not men o’ their words. They told me I was everything; ’tis a lie, I am not ague-proof.
GLOUCESTER	The trick of that voice I do well remember. Is’t not the King?
LEAR	Ay, every inch a king.
(didascalia)	Gloucester kneels
LEAR	When I do stare, see how the subject quakes! I pardon that man’s life. What was thy cause? Adultery? Thou shalt not die. Die for adultery! No, the wren goes to‘t, and the small gilded fly Does lecher in my sight. Let copulation thrive, For Gloucester’s bastard son Was kinder to his father than my daughters Got ’tween the lawful sheets. To‘t, luxury, pell-mell, For I lack soldiers. Behold yon simp’ring dame, Whose face between her forks presages snow, That minces virtue, and does shake the head To hear of pleasure’s name. The fitchew nor the soilèd horse goes to’t With a more riotous appetite. Down from the waist They’re centaurs, though women all above. But to the girdle do the gods inherit; Beneath is all the fiend’s. There’s hell, there’s darkness, there is the sulphurous pit, burning, scalding, stench, consumption. Fie, fie, fie; pah, pah! Give me an ounce of civet, good apothecary, sweeten my imagination. There’s money for thee.
GLOUCESTER	O, let me kiss that hand!
LEAR	Let me wipe it first; it smells of mortality.
GLOUCESTER	O ruined piece of nature! This great world Shall so wear out to naught. Dost thou know me?
LEAR	I remember thine eyes well enough. Dost thou squiny at me? No, do thy worst, blind Cupid, I’ll not love. Read thou this challenge. Mark but the penning of it.
GLOUCESTER	Were all thy letters suns, I could not see.
EDGAR	(aside) I would not take this from report; it is, And my heart breaks at it.
LEAR	(to Gloucester) Read.
GLOUCESTER	What—with the case of eyes?
LEAR	O ho, are you there with me? No eyes in your head, nor no money in your purse? Your eyes are in a heavy case, your purse in a light; yet you see how this world goes.
GLOUCESTER	I see it feelingly.
LEAR	What, art mad? A man may see how this world goes with no eyes; look with thine ears. See how yon justice rails upon yon simple thief. Hark in thine ear: change places, and handy-dandy, which is the justice, which is the thief? Thou hast seen a farmer’s dog bark at a beggar?
GLOUCESTER	Ay, sir.
LEAR	An the creature run from the cur, there thou mightst behold the great image of authority. A dog’s obeyed in office. Thou rascal beadle, hold thy bloody hand. Why dost thou lash that whore? Strip thy own back. Thou hotly lusts to use her in that kind For which thou whip‘st her. The usurer hangs the cozener. Through tattered clothes great vices do appear; Robes and furred gowns hide all. Plate sin with gold, And the strong lance of justice hurtless breaks; Arm it in rags, a pygmy’s straw does pierce it. None does offend, none, I say none. I’ll able ’em. Take that of me, my friend, who have the power To seal th’accuser’s lips. Get thee glass eyes, And, like a scurvy politician, seem To see the things thou dost not. Now, now, now, now! Pull off my boots. Harder, harder! So.
EDGAR	(aside) O, matter and impertinency mixed—170 Reason in madness!
LEAR	If thou wilt weep my fortunes, take my eyes. I know thee well enough: thy name is Gloucester. Thou must be patient. We came crying hither. Thou know’st the first time that we smell the air We waul and cry. I will preach to thee. Mark.
GLOUCESTER	Alack, alack the day!
(didascalia)	LEAR removing his crown of weeds
GLOUCESTER	When we are born, we cry that we are come To this great stage of fools. This’ a good block. It were a delicate stratagem to shoe 180 A troop of horse with felt. I’ll put’t in proof, And when I have stol’n upon these son-in-laws, Then kill, kill, kill, kill, kill, kill!
(didascalia)	Enter two Gentlemen
(didascalia)	FIRSTGENTLEMAN
(didascalia)	O, here he is. Lay hand upon him. To LearSir,
GLOUCESTER	Your most dear daughter—
LEAR	No rescue? What, a prisoner? I am even The natural fool of fortune. Use me well. You shall have ransom. Let me have surgeons; I am cut to th’ brains.
(didascalia)	FIRSTGENTLEMAN You shall have anything.
LEAR	No seconds? All myself? Why, this would make a man a man of salt, To use his eyes for garden water-pots. I will die bravely, like a smug bridegroom. What, I will be jovial. Come, come, I am a king. Masters, know you that?
(didascalia)	FIRSTGENTLEMAN
LEAR	You are a royal one, and we obey you.
LEAR	Then there’s life in’t. Come, an you get it, you shall get it by running. Sa, sa, sa, sa!
(didascalia)	Exit running pursued by a Gentleman
(didascalia)	FIRSTGENTLEMAN
LEAR	A sight most pitiful in the meanest wretch, Past speaking in a king. Thou hast a daughter Who redeems nature from the general curse Which twain have brought her to.
EDGAR	Hail, gentle sir.
(didascalia)	FIRSTGENTLEMAN Sir, speed you. What’s your will?
EDGAR	Do you hear aught, sir, of a battle toward?
(didascalia)	FIRST+GENTLEMAN
EDGAR	Most sure and vulgar, everyone hears that That can distinguish sound.
EDGAR	But, by your favour, How near’s the other army?
(didascalia)	FIRST GENTLEMAN,
EDGAR	Near and on speedy foot. The main descry Stands in the hourly thought.
EDGAR	I thank you, sir. That’s all.
(didascalia)	FIRSTGENTLEMAN
EDGAR	Though that the Queen on special cause is here, Her army is moved on.
EDGAR	I thank you, sir. Exit Gentleman
GLOUCESTER	You ever gentle gods, take my breath from me. Let not my worser spirit tempt me again To die before you please.
EDGAR	Well pray you, father.
GLOUCESTER	Now, good sir, what are you?
EDGAR	A most poor man, made tame to fortune’s blows, Who by the art of known and feeling sorrows Am pregnant to good pity. Give me your hand, I’ll lead you to some biding.
(didascalia)	GLOUCESTER rising
EDGAR	Hearty thanks. The bounty and the benison of heaven To boot and boot.
(didascalia)	Enter Oswald the steward
OSWALD	A proclaimed prize! Most happy! That eyeless head of thine was first framed flesh To raise my fortunes. Thou old unhappy traitor, Briefly thyself remember. The sword is out That must destroy thee.
GLOUCESTER	Now let thy friendly hand Put strength enough to’t.
OSWALD	(to Edgar) Wherefore, bold peasant, Durst thou support a published traitor? Hence, Lest that th’infection of his fortune take Like hold on thee. Let go his arm.
EDGAR	‘Chill not let go, sir, without vurther ’cagion.
OSWALD	Let go, slave, or thou diest.
EDGAR	Good gentleman, go your gate, and let poor volk pass. An ‘chud ha’ been swaggered out of my life, ’twould not ha’ been so long as ‘tis by a vortnight. Nay, come not near th’old man. Keep out, ‘che vor’ ye, or I’s’ try whether your costard or my baton be the harder; I’ll be plain with you.
OSWALD	Out, dunghill!
EDGAR	’Chill pick your teeth, sir. Come, no matter vor your foins.
(didascalia)	Edgar knocks him down
OSWALD	Slave, thou hast slain me. Villain, take my purse. If ever thou wilt thrive, bury my body, And give the letters which thou find’st about me To Edmond, Earl of Gloucester. Seek him out Upon the English party. O untimely death! Death! He dies
EDGAR	I know thee well—a serviceable villain, As duteous to the vices of thy mistress As badness would desire.
GLOUCESTER	What, is he dead?
EDGAR	Sit you down, father. Rest you. Gloucester sits Let’s see these pockets. The letters that he speaks of May be my friends. He’s dead; I am only sorrow He had no other deathsman. Let us see. Leave, gentle wax, and manners; blame us not. To know our enemies’ minds we rip their hearts; Their papers is more lawful. He reads the letter ’Let our reciprocal vows be remembered. You have many opportunities to cut him off. If your will want not, time and place will be fruitfully offered. There is nothing done if he return the conqueror; then am I the prisoner, and his bed my jail, from the loathed warmth whereof, deliver me, and supply the place for your labour. Your—wife, so I would say,—affectionate servant, and for you her own for venture, Goneril.’ O indistinguished space of woman’s will— A plot upon her virtuous husband’s life, And the exchange my brother!—Here in the sands Thee I’ll rake up, the post unsanctified Of murderous lechers, and in the mature time With this ungracious paper strike the sight Of the death-practised Duke. For him ’tis well That of thy death and business I can tell.
(didascalia)	Exit with the body
GLOUCESTER	The King is mad. How stiff is my vile sense, That I stand up and have ingenious feeling Of my huge sorrows! Better I were distraught, So should my thoughts be severed from my griefs,
(didascalia)	Drum afar off
GLOUCESTER	And woes by wrong imaginations lose The knowledge of themselves.
(didascalia)	Enter Edgar
EDGAR	Give me your hand. Far off methinks I hear the beaten drum. Come, father, I’ll bestow you with a friend.
(didascalia)	Exit Edgar guiding Gloucester
(didascalia)	4.6 Enter Queen Cordelia, the Earl of Kent disguised, and the First Gentleman
CORDELIA	O thou good Kent, how shall I live and work To match thy goodness? My life will be too short, And every measure fail me.
KENT	To be acknowledged, madam, is o’erpaid. All my reports go with the modest truth, Nor more, nor clipped, but so.
CORDELIA	Be better suited. These weeds are memories of those worser hours. I prithee put them off.
KENT	Pardon, dear madam. Yet to be known shortens my made intent. My boon I make it that you know me not Till time and I think meet.
CORDELIA	Then be’t so, my good lord.— How does the King?
(didascalia)	FIRSTGENTLEMAN Madam, sleeps still.
CORDELIA	O you kind gods, Cure this great breach in his abused nature; Th’untuned and jarring senses O wind up Of this child-changed father!
(didascalia)	FIRSTGENTLEMAN
CORDELIA	So please your majesty That we may wake the King? He hath slept long.
CORDELIA	Be governed by your knowledge, and proceed I’th’ sway of your own will. Is he arrayed?
(didascalia)	FIRSTGENTLEMAN
CORDELIA	Ay, madam. In the heaviness of sleep We put fresh garments on him.
(didascalia)	Enter King Lear asleep, in a chair carried by servants
CORDELIA	Be by, good madam, when we do awake him. I doubt not of his temperance.
CORDELIA	O my dear father, restoration hang Thy medicine on my lips, and let this kiss Repair those violent harms that my two sisters Have in thy reverence made!
KENT	Kind and dear princess!
CORDELIA	Had you not been their father, these white flakes Did challenge pity of them. Was this a face To be opposed against the warring winds? Mine enemy’s dog, though he had bit me, should have stood That night against my fire. And wast thou fain, poor father, To hovel thee with swine and rogues forlorn In short and musty straw? Alack, alack, ’Tis wonder that thy life and wits at once Had not concluded all! (To the Gentleman) He wakes. Speak to him.
(didascalia)	FIRSTGENTLEMAN Madam, do you; ’tis fittest.
CORDELIA	(to Lear) How does my royal lord? How fares your majesty?
LEAR	You do me wrong to take me out o’th’ grave. Thou art a soul in bliss, but I am bound Upon a wheel of fire, that mine own tears Do scald like molten lead.
CORDELIA	Sir, do you know me?
LEAR	You are a spirit, I know. Where did you die?
CORDELIA	(to the Gentleman) Still, still far wide!
(didascalia)	FIRST GENTLEMAN
CORDELIA	He’s scarce awake. Let him alone a while.
LEAR	Where have I been? Where am I? Fair daylight? I am mightily abused. I should ev’n die with pity To see another thus. I know not what to say. I will not swear these are my hands. Let’s see: I feel this pin prick. Would I were assured Of my condition.
CORDELIA	(kneeling) O look upon me, sir, And hold your hands in benediction o’er me. You must not kneel.
LEAR	Pray do not mock. I am a very foolish, fond old man, Fourscore and upward, Not an hour more nor less; and to deal plainly, I fear I am not in my perfect mind. Methinks I should know you, and know this man; Yet I am doubtful, for I am mainly ignorant What place this is; and all the skill I have Remembers not these garments; nor I know not Where I did lodge last night. Do not laugh at me, For as I am a man, I think this lady To be my child, Cordelia.
CORDELIA	And so I am, I am.
LEAR	Be your tears wet? Yes, faith. I pray, weep not. If you have poison for me, I will drink it. I know you do not love me; for your sisters Have, as I do remember, done me wrong. You have some cause; they have not.
CORDELIA	No cause, no cause.
LEAR	Am I in France?
KENT	In your own kingdom, sir.
LEAR	Do not abuse me.
(didascalia)	FIRSTGENTLEMAN
LEAR	Be comforted, good madam. The great rage You see is killed in him. Desire him to go in. Trouble him no more till further settling.
CORDELIA	(to Lear) Will’t please your highness walk?
LEAR	You must bear with me. Pray you now, forget And forgive. I am old and foolish.
(didascalia)	Exeunt
LEAR	5.1 Enter with a drummer and colours Edmond, Regan, Gentlemen, and soldiers
EDMOND	Know of the Duke if his last purpose hold, Or whether since he is advised by aught To change the course. He’s full of abdication And self-reproving. Bring his constant pleasure.
(didascalia)	Exit one or more
REGAN	Our sister’s man is certainly miscarried.
EDMOND	’Tis to be doubted, madam.
REGAN	Now, sweet lord, You know the goodness I intend upon you. Tell me but truly—but then speak the truth- Do you not love my sister?
EDMOND	In honoured love.
REGAN	But have you never found my brother’s way To the forfended place?
EDMOND	No, by mine honour, madam.
REGAN	I never shall endure her. Dear my lord, Be not familiar with her.
EDMOND	Fear me not. She and the Duke her husband—
(didascalia)	Enter with a drummer and colours the Duke of Albany, Goneril, and soldiers
ALBANY	(to Regan) Our very loving sister, well bemet. (To Edmond) Sir, this I heard: the King is come to his daughter, With others whom the rigour of our state Forced to cry out.
REGAN	Why is this reasoned?
GONERIL	Combine together ’gainst the enemy; For these domestic and particular broils Are not the question here.
ALBANY	Let’s then determine with th’ensign of war On our proceeding.
REGAN	Sister, you’ll go with us?
GONERIL	No.
REGAN	’Tis most convenient. Pray go with us.
GONERIL	(aside) O ho, I know the riddle! (To Regan) I will go.
(didascalia)	Enter Edgar disguised as a peasant
EDGAR	(to Albany) If e’er your grace had speech with man so poor, Hear me one word.
ALBANY	(to the others) I’ll overtake you.
(didascalia)	Exeunt both the armies
ALBANY	Speak.
EDGAR	Before you fight the battle, ope this letter. If you have victory, let the trumpet sound For him that brought it. Wretched though I seem, I can produce a champion that will prove What is avouchèd there. If you miscarry, Your business of the world hath so an end, And machination ceases. Fortune love you.
ALBANY	Stay till I have read the letter.
EDGAR	I was forbid it. When time shall serve, let but the herald cry, And I’ll appear again.
ALBANY	Why, fare thee well. I will o’erlook thy paper.
(didascalia)	Exit Edgar
(didascalia)	Enter Edmond
EDMOND	The enemy’s in view; draw up your powers.
(didascalia)	He offersAlbany a paper
EDMOND	Here is the guess of their true strength and forces By diligent discovery; but your haste Is now urged on you.
ALBANY	We will greet the time.
(didascalia)	Exit
EDMOND	To both these sisters have I sworn my love, Each jealous of the other as the stung Are of the adder. Which of them shall I take?— Both?—one?—or neither? Neither can be enjoyed If both remain alive. To take the widow Exasperates, makes mad, her sister Goneril, And hardly shall I carry out my side, Her husband being alive. Now then, we’ll use His countenance for the battle, which being done, Let her who would be rid of him devise His speedy taking off. As for the mercy Which he intends to Lear and to Cordelia, The battle done, and they within our power, Shall never see his pardon; for my state Stands on me to defend, not to debate.
(didascalia)	Exit

Atto 5, Scena 2

Speaker	Line
(didascalia)	Alarum within. Enter with a drummer and colours King Lear, Queen Cordelia, and soldiers over the stage; and exeunt. Enter Edgar disguised as a peasant, guiding the blind Duke of Gloucester
EDGAR	Here, father, take the shadow of this tree For your good host; pray that the right may thrive. If ever I return to you again I’ll bring you comfort.
GLOUCESTER	Grace go with you, sir.
(didascalia)	Exit Edgar
(didascalia)	Alarum and retreat within. Enter Edgar
EDGAR	Away, old man. Give me thy hand. Away. King Lear hath lost, he and his daughter ta’en. Give me thy hand. Come on.
GLOUCESTER	No further, sir. A man may rot even here.
EDGAR	What, in ill thoughts again? Men must endure Their going hence even as their coming hither. Ripeness is all. Come on.
GLOUCESTER	And that’s true, too.
(didascalia)	Exit Edgar guiding Gloucester

Atto 5, Scena 3

Speaker	Line
(didascalia)	Enter in conquest with a drummer and colours Edmond; King Lear and Queen Cordelia as prisoners; soldiers; a Captain
EDMOND	Some officers take them away. Good guard Until their greater pleasures first be known That are to censure them.
CORDELIA	(to Lear) We are not the first Who with best meaning have incurred the worst. For thee, oppressed King, I am cast down, Myself could else outfrown false fortune’s frown. Shall we not see these daughters and these sisters?
LEAR	No, no, no, no. Come, let’s away to prison. We two alone will sing like birds i’th’ cage. When thou dost ask me blessing, I’ll kneel down And ask of thee forgiveness; so we’ll live, And pray, and sing, and tell old tales, and laugh At gilded butterflies, and hear poor rogues Talk of court news, and we’ll talk with them too— Who loses and who wins, who’s in, who’s out, And take upon ’s the mystery of things As if we were God’s spies; and we’ll wear out In a walled prison packs and sects of great ones That ebb and flow by th’ moon.
EDMOND	(to soldiers) Take them away.
LEAR	Upon such sacrifices, my Cordelia, The gods themselves throw incense. Have I caught thee? He that parts us shall bring a brand from heaven And fire us hence like foxes. Wipe thine eyes. The goodyear shall devour them, flesh and fell, Ere they shall make us weep. We’ll see ’em starved first. Come. Exeunt all but Edmond and the Captain
EDMOND	Come hither, captain. Hark. Take thou this note. Go follow them to prison. One step I have advanced thee; if thou dost As this instructs thee, thou dost make thy way To noble fortunes. Know thou this: that men Are as the time is. To be tender-minded Does not become a sword. Thy great employment Will not bear question. Either say thou‘It do’t, Or thrive by other means.
CAPTAIN	I’ll do’t, my lord.
EDMOND	About it, and write ‘happy’ when thou’st done. Mark, I say, instantly, and carry it so As I have set it down.
(didascalia)	Exit the Captain
(didascalia)	Flourish. Enter the Duke of Albany, Goneril, Regan, drummer, trumpeter
EDMOND	and soldiers
ALBANY	Sir, you have showed today your valiant strain, And fortune led you well. You have the captives Who were the opposites of this day’s strife. I do require them of you, so to use them As we shall find their merits and our safety May equally determine.
EDMOND	Sir, I thought it fit To send the old and miserable King To some retention and appointed guard, Whose age had charms in it, whose title more, To pluck the common bosom on his side And turn our impressed lances in our eyes Which do command them. With him I sent the Queen, My reason all the same, and they are ready Tomorrow, or at further space, t’appear Where you shall hold your session.
ALBANY	Sir, by your patience, I hold you but a subject of this war, Not as a brother.
REGAN	That’s as we list to grace him. Methinks our pleasure might have been demanded Ere you had spoke so far. He led our powers, Bore the commission of my place and person, The which immediacy may well stand up And call itself your brother.
GONERIL	Not so hot. In his own grace he doth exalt himself More than in your addition.
REGAN	In my rights By me invested, he compeers the best.
ALBANY	That were the most if he should husband you.
REGAN	Jesters do oft prove prophets.
GONERIL	Holla, holla— That eye that told you so looked but asquint.
REGAN	Lady, I am not well, else I should answer From a full-flowing stomach. (To Edmond) General, Take thou my soldiers, prisoners, patrimony. Dispose of them, of me. The walls is thine. Witness the world that I create thee here My lord and master.
GONERIL	Mean you to enjoy him?
ALBANY	The let-alone lies not in your good will.
EDMOND	Nor in thine, lord.
ALBANY	Half-blooded fellow, yes.
REGAN	(to Edmond) Let the drum strike and prove my title thine.
ALBANY	Stay yet, hear reason. Edmond, I arrest thee On capital treason, and in thy attaint This gilded serpent. (To Regan) For your claim, fair sister, I bar it in the interest of my wife. ’Tis she is subcontracted to this lord, And I, her husband, contradict your banns. If you will marry, make your loves to me. My lady is bespoke.
GONERIL	An interlude!
ALBANY	Thou art armed, Gloucester. Let the trumpet sound. If none appear to prove upon thy person Thy heinous, manifest, and many treasons, There is my pledge.
(didascalia)	He
ALBANY	throws down a
(didascalia)	glove
ALBANY	I’ll make it on thy heart, Ere I taste bread, thou art in nothing less Than I have here proclaimed thee.
REGAN	Sick, O sick!
GONERIL	(aside) If not, I’ll ne’er trust medicine.
(didascalia)	EDMOND (to Albany, throwing down a glovel
GONERIL	There’s my exchange. What in the world he is That names me traitor, villain-like he lies. Call by the trumpet. He that dares, approach; On him, on you,—who not?—I will maintain My truth and honour firmly.
ALBANY	A herald, ho!
(didascalia)	Enter a Herald
ALBANY	(To Edmond) Trust to thy single virtue, for thy soldiers, All levied in my name, have in my name Took their discharge.
REGAN	My sickness grows upon me.
ALBANY	She is not well. Convey her to my tent.
(didascalia)	Exit one or more with Regan
ALBANY	Come hither, herald. Let the trumpet sound, And read out this. A trumpet sounds
HERALD	(reads) ‘If any man of quality or degree within the lists of the army will maintain upon Edmond, supposed Earl of Gloucester, that he is a manifold traitor, let him appear by the third sound of the trumpet. He is bold in his defence.’ First trumpet Again. Second trumpet Again. Third trumpet.
(didascalia)	Trumpet answers within. Enter Edgar, armed
ALBANY	(to the Herald) Ask him his purposes, why he appears Upon this call o’th’ trumpet.
HERALD	(to Edgar) What are you? Your name, your quality, and why you answer This present summons?
EDGAR	Know, my name is lost, By treason’s tooth bare-gnawn and canker-bit. Yet am I noble as the adversary I come to cope.
ALBANY	Which is that adversary?
EDGAR	What’s he that speaks for Edmond, Earl of Gloucester?
EDMOND	Himself. What sayst thou to him?
EDGAR	Draw thy sword, That if my speech offend a noble heart Thy arm may do thee justice. Here is mine. He draws his sword Behold, it is the privilege of mine honour, My oath, and my profession. I protest, Maugre thy strength, place, youth, and eminence, Despite thy victor-sword and fire-new fortune, Thy valour and thy heart, thou art a traitor, False to thy gods, thy brother, and thy father, Conspirant ‘gainst this high illustrious prince, And from th’extremest upward of thy head To the descent and dust below thy foot A most toad-spotted traitor. Say thou no, This sword, this arm, and my best spirits are bent To prove upon thy heart, whereto I speak, Thou liest.
EDMOND	In wisdom I should ask thy name, But since thy outside looks so fair and warlike, And that thy tongue some say of breeding breathes, What safe and nicely I might well demand By rule of knighthood I disdain and spurn. Back do I toss those treasons to thy head, With the hell-hated lie o’erwhelm thy heart, Which, for they yet glance by and scarcely bruise, This sword of mine shall give them instant way Where they shall rest for ever. Trumpets, speak!
(didascalia)	Alarums. They fight. Edmond is vanquished
(didascalia)	ALL
EDMOND	Save him, save him!
GONERIL	This is practice, Gloucester. By th’ law of arms thou wast not bound to answer An unknown opposite. Thou art not vanquished, But cozened and beguiled.
ALBANY	Shut your mouth, dame, Or with this paper shall I stopple it.
(didascalia)	To Edmond Hold, sir, thou worse than any name:
ALBANY	read thine own evil. (To Goneril) No tearing, lady. I perceive you know it.
GONERIL	Say if I do, the laws are mine, not thine. Who can arraign me for’t?
(didascalia)	Exit
ALBANY	Most monstrous!— O, know’st thou this paper?
EDMOND	Ask me not what I know.
ALBANY	Go after her. She’s desperate. Govern her.
(didascalia)	Exit one or more
EDMOND	What you have charged me with, that have I done, And more, much more. The time will bring it out. ‘Tis past, and so am I. (To Edgar) But what art thou, That hast this fortune on me? If thou’rt noble, I do forgive thee.
EDGAR	Let’s exchange charity. I am no less in blood than thou art, Edmond. If more, the more thou’st wronged me.
(didascalia)	He
EDGAR	takes off his
(didascalia)	helmet
EDGAR	My name is Edgar, and thy father’s son. The gods are just, and of our pleasant vices Make instruments to plague us. The dark and vicious place where thee he got Cost him his eyes.
EDMOND	Thou‘st spoken right. ’Tis true. The wheel is come full circle. I am here.
ALBANY	(to Edgar) Methought thy very gait did prophesy A royal nobleness. I must embrace thee. Let sorrow split my heart if ever I Did hate thee or thy father.
EDGAR	Worthy prince, I know’t.
ALBANY	Where have you hid yourself? How have you known the miseries of your father?
EDGAR	By nursing them, my lord. List a brief tale, And when ‘tis told, O that my heart would burst! The bloody proclamation to escape That followed me so near—O, our lives’ sweetness, That we the pain of death would hourly die Rather than die at once!—taught me to shift Into a madman’s rags, t’assume a semblance That very dogs disdained; and in this habit Met I my father with his bleeding rings, Their precious stones new-lost; became his guide, Led him, begged for him, saved him from despair; Never—O fault!—revealed myself unto him Until some half hour past, when I was armed. Not sure, though hoping, of this good success, I asked his blessing, and from first to last Told him our pilgrimage; but his flawed heart— Alack, too weak the conflict to support— ’Twixt two extremes of passion, joy and grief, Burst smilingly.
EDMOND	This speech of yours hath moved me, And shall perchance do good. But speak you on— You look as you had something more to say.
ALBANY	If there be more, more woeful, hold it in, For I am almost ready to dissolve, Hearing of this.
(didascalia)	Enter a Gentleman with a bloody knife
GENTLEMAN	Help, help, O help!
EDGAR	What kind of help?
ALBANY	Speak, man.
EDGAR	What means this bloody knife?
GENTLEMAN	’Tis hot, it smokes. It came even from the heart of—O, she’s dead!
ALBANY	Who dead? Speak, man.
GENTLEMAN	Your lady, sir, your lady; and her sister By her is poisoned. She confesses it.
EDMOND	I was contracted to them both; all three Now marry in an instant.
EDGAR	Here comes Kent.
(didascalia)	Enter the Earl of Kent as himself
ALBANY	Produce the bodies, be they alive or dead. Goneril’s and Regan’s bodies brought out This judgement of the heavens, that makes us tremble, Touches us not with pity.—O, is this he? (To Kent) The time will not allow the compliment Which very manners urges.
KENT	I am come To bid my king and master aye good night. Is he not here?
ALBANY	Great thing of us forgot!— Speak, Edmond; where’s the King, and where’s Cordelia?- Seest thou this object, Kent?
KENT	Alack, why thus?
EDMOND	Yet Edmond was beloved. The one the other poisoned for my sake, And after slew herself.
ALBANY	Even so.—Cover their faces.
EDMOND	I pant for life. Some good I mean to do, Despite of mine own nature. Quickly send, Be brief in it, to th’ castle; for my writ Is on the life of Lear and on Cordelia. Nay, send in time.
ALBANY	Run, run, O run!
EDGAR	To who, my lord?—Who has the office? Send Thy token of reprieve.
EDMOND	Well thought on! Take my sword. The captain, Give it the captain.
EDGAR	Haste thee for thy life.
(didascalia)	Exit the Gentleman
EDMOND	(to Albany) He hath commission from thy wife and me To hang Cordelia in the prison, and To lay the blame upon her own despair, That she fordid herself.
ALBANY	The gods defend her!—Bear him hence a while.
(didascalia)	Exeunt some with Edmond
(didascalia)	Enter King Lear with Queen Cordelia in his arms,
(didascalia)	followed by the Gentleman
LEAR	Howl, howl, howl, howl! O, you are men of stones. Had I your tongues and eyes, I’d use them so That heaven’s vault should crack. She’s gone for ever. I know when one is dead and when one lives. She’s dead as earth.
(didascalia)	He lays her down
LEAR	Lend me a looking-glass. If that her breath will mist or stain the stone, Why, then she lives.
KENT	Is this the promised end?
EDGAR	Or image of that horror?
ALBANY	Fall and cease.
LEAR	This feather stirs. She lives. If it be so, It is a chance which does redeem all sorrows That ever I have felt.
(didascalia)	KENT kneeling
LEAR	O, my good master!
LEAR	Prithee, away.
EDGAR	’Tis noble Kent, your friend.
LEAR	A plague upon you, murderers, traitors all. I might have saved her; now she’s gone for ever.- Cordelia, Cordelia: stay a little. Ha? What is’t thou sayst?—Her voice was ever soft, Gentle, and low, an excellent thing in woman.— I killed the slave that was a-hanging thee.
GENTLEMAN	’Tis true, my lords, he did.
LEAR	Did I not, fellow? I have seen the day with my good biting falchion I would have made them skip. I am old now, And these same crosses spoil me. (To Kent) Who are you? Mine eyes are not o’th’ best, I’ll tell you straight.
KENT	If fortune brag of two she loved and hated, One of them we behold.
LEAR	This’ a dull sight. Are you not Kent?
KENT	The same, your servant Kent. Where is your servant Caius?
LEAR	He’s a good fellow, I can tell you that. He’ll strike, and quickly too. He’s dead and rotten.
KENT	No, my good lord, I am the very man—
LEAR	I’ll see that straight.
KENT	That from your first of difference and decay Have followed your sad steps.
LEAR	You’re welcome hither.
KENT	Nor no man else. All’s cheerless, dark, and deadly. Your eldest daughters have fordone themselves, And desperately are dead.
LEAR	Ay, so think I.
ALBANY	He knows not what he says; and vain is it That we present us to him.
(didascalia)	Enter a Messenger
EDGAR	Very bootless.
MESSENGER	(to Albany) Edmond is dead, my lord.
ALBANY	That’s but a trifle here.— You lords and noble friends, know our intent. What comfort to this great decay may come Shall be applied; for us, we will resign During the life of this old majesty To him our absolute power; (To Edgar and Kent) you to your rights, With boot and such addition as your honours Have more than merited. All friends shall taste The wages of their virtue, and all foes The cup of their deservings.—O see, see!
LEAR	And my poor fool is hanged. No, no, no life? Why should a dog, a horse, a rat have life, And thou no breath at all? Thou’lt come no more. Never, never, never, never, never.
(didascalia)	To Kent Pray you, undo this button. Thank you, sir.
LEAR	Do you see this? Look on her. Look, her lips. Look there, look there. He dies
EDGAR	He faints. (To Lear) My lord, my lord!
(didascalia)	KENT to Lear
EDGAR	Break, heart, I prithee break.
EDGAR	(to Lear) Look up, my lord.
KENT	Vex not his ghost. O, let him pass. He hates him That would upon the rack of this tough world Stretch him out longer.
EDGAR	He is gone indeed.
KENT	The wonder is he hath endured so long. He but usurped his life.
ALBANY	Bear them from hence. Our present business Is general woe. (To Edgar and Kent) Friends of my soul, you twain Rule in this realm, and the gored state sustain.
KENT	I have a journey, sir, shortly to go: My master calls me; I must not say no.
EDGAR	The weight of this sad time we must obey, Speak what we feel, not what we ought to say. The oldest hath borne most. We that are young Shall never see so much, nor live so long.
(didascalia)	Exeunt with a dead march, carrying the bodies
OUR	first reference to Cymbeline is a note by the astrologer Simon Forman that he saw the play, probably not long before his death on 8 September 1611. He refers to the heroine as ‘Innogen’, and this name occurs in the sources; the form ‘Imogen’, found only in the Folio, appears to be a misprint. The play’s courtly tone, and the masque-like quality of, particularly, the episode (5.5.186.1-2) in which Jupiter ‘descends in thunder and lightning, sitting upon an eagle’ and ‘throws a thunderbolt’, suggests that as Shakespeare wrote he may have had in mind the audiences and the stage equipment of the Blackfriars theatre, which his company used from the autumn of 1609; and stylistic evidence places the play in about 1610-11. It was first printed in the 1623 Folio, as the last of the tragedies. In fact it is a tragicomedy, or a romance, telling a complex and implausible tale of events which cause the deaths of certain subsidiary characters (Cloten, and the Queen) and bring major characters (including the heroine, Innogen) close to death, but which are miraculously resolved in the reunions and reconciliations of the closing scene. Shakespeare’s plot reflects a wide range of reading. He took his title and setting from the name and reign of the legendary British king Cymbeline, or Cunobelinus, said to have reigned from 33 BC till shortly after the birth of Christ. Cymbeline is no chronicle history, but Shakespeare derived some ideas, and many of his characters’ names, from accounts of early British history in Holinshed’s Chronicles and elsewhere. Drawing partially, it seems, on an old play, The Rare Triumphs of Love and Fortune (acted 1582, printed 1589), he gives Cymbeline a daughter, Innogen, and a wicked second Queen with a loutish, vicious son, Cloten, whom she wishes to see on the throne in her husband’s place. Cymbeline, disapproving of his daughter’s marriage to ‘a poor but worthy gentleman’, Posthumus Leonatus, banishes him. The strand of plot showing the outcome of a wager that Posthumus, in Rome, lays on his wife’s chastity is indebted, directly or indirectly, to Boccaccio’s Decameron. Another old play, Sir Clyomon and Clamydes (printed in 1599), may have suggested the bizarre scene (4.2) in which Innogen mistakes Cloten’s headless body for that of Posthumus; and IIolinshed’s Ilistory of Scotland supplied the episode in which Cymbeline’s two sons, Guiderius and Arviragus, helped only by the old man (Belarius) who has brought them up in the wilds of Wales, defeat the entire Roman army. The tone of Cymbeline has puzzled commentators. Its prose and verse style is frequently ornate, sometimes grotesque. Its characterization often seems deliberately artificial. Extremes are violently juxtaposed, most daringly when Innogen, supposed dead, is laid beside Cloten’s headless body: the beauty of the verse in which she is mourned, and of the flowers strewn over the bodies, contrasts with the hideous spectacle of the headless corpse; her waking speech is one of Shakespeare’s most thrillingly difficult challenges to his performers. The appearance of Jupiter lifts the action to a new level of even greater implausibility, preparing us for the extraordinary series of revelations by which the play advances to its impossibly happy ending. Cymbeline has been valued mostly for its portrayal of Innogen, ideal of womanhood to, especially, Victorian readers and theatre-goers. The play as a whole is a fantasy, an experimental exercise in virtuosity.
THE PERSONS OF THE	PLAY CYMBELINE, King of Britain Princess INNOGEN, his daughter, later disguised as a man named Fidele QUEEN, Cymbeline’s wife, Innogen’s stepmother Lord CLOTEN, her son BELARIUS, a banished lord, calling himself Morgan CORNELIUS, a physician HELEN, a lady attending on Innogen Two LORDS attending on Cloten Two GENTLEMEN Two British CAPTAINS Two JAILERS
POSTHUMUS	Leonatus, a poor gentleman, Innogen’s husband PISANIO, his servant FILARIO, a friend of Posthumus Caius LUCIUS, ambassador from Rome, later General of the Roman forces Two Roman SENATORS Roman TRIBUNES A Roman CAPTAIN Philharmonus, a SOOTHSAYER
JUPITER	Ghost of SICILIUS Leonatus, father of Posthumus Ghost of the MOTHER of Posthumus Ghosts of the BROTHERS of Posthumus Lords attending on Cymbeline, ladies attending on the Queen, musicians attending on Cloten, messengers, soldiers

Speaker	Line
(didascalia)	Enter the Earl of Kent, the Duke of Gloucester, and Edmond
KENT	I thought the King had more affected the Duke of Albany than Cornwall. GLOUCESTER) It did always seem so to us, but now in the division of the kingdom it appears not which of the Dukes he values most; for qualities are so weighed that curiosity in neither can make choice of either’s moiety.
KENT	Is not this your son, my lord?
GLOUCESTER	His breeding, sir, hath been at my charge. I have so often blushed to acknowledge him that now I am brazed to’t.
KENT	I cannot conceive you.
GLOUCESTER	Sir, this young fellow’s mother could, whereupon she grew round-wombed and had indeed, sir, a son for her cradle ere she had a husband for her bed. Do you smell a fault?
KENT	I cannot wish the fault undone, the issue of it being so proper.
GLOUCESTER	But I have a son, sir, by order of law, some year older than this, who yet is no dearer in my account. Though this knave came something saucily to the world before he was sent for, yet was his mother fair, there was good sport at his making, and the whoreson must be acknowledged. (To Edmond) Do you know this noble gentleman, Edmond?
EDMOND	No, my lord.
GLOUCESTER	(to Edmond) My lord of Kent. Remember him hereafter as my honourable friend.
EDMOND	(to Kent) My services to your lordship.
KENT	I must love you, and sue to know you better.
EDMOND	Sir, I shall study deserving.
GLOUCESTER	(to Kent) He hath been out nine years, and away he shall again.
(didascalia)	Sennet
GLOUCESTER	The King is coming.
(didascalia)	Enter King Lear, the Dukes of Cornwall and Albany, Goneril, Regan, Cordelia, and attendants
LEAR	Attend the lords of France and Burgundy, Gloucester.
GLOUCESTER	I shall, my lord. Exit
LEAR	Meantime we shall express our darker purpose. Give me the map there. Know that we have divided In three our kingdom, and ’tis our fast intent To shake all cares and business from our age, Conferring them on younger strengths while we Unburdened crawl toward death. Our son of Cornwall, And you, our no less loving son of Albany, We have this hour a constant will to publish Our daughters’ several dowers, that future strife May be prevented now. The princes France and Burgundy— Great rivals in our youngest daughter’s love— Long in our court have made their amorous sojourn, And here are to be answered. Tell me, my daughters— Since now we will divest us both of rule, Interest of territory, cares of state— Which of you shall we say doth love us most, That we our largest bounty may extend Where nature doth with merit challenge? Goneril, Our eldest born, speak first.
GONERIL	Sir, I love you more than words can wield the matter; Dearer than eyesight, space, and liberty; Beyond what can be valued, rich or rare, No less than life; with grace, health, beauty, honour; As much as child e’er loved or father found; A love that makes breath poor and speech unable. Beyond all manner of so much I love you.
CORDELIA	(aside) What shall Cordelia speak? Love and be silent.
LEAR	(to Goneril) Of all these bounds even from this line to this, With shadowy forests and with champaigns riched, With plenteous rivers and wide-skirted meads, We make thee lady. To thine and Albany’s issues Be this perpetual.—What says our second daughter? Our dearest Regan, wife of Cornwall?
REGAN	I am made of that self mettle as my sister, And prize me at her worth. In my true heart I find she names my very deed of love— Only she comes too short, that I profess Myself an enemy to all other joys Which the most precious square of sense possesses, And find I am alone felicitate In your dear highness’ love.
CORDELIA	(aside) Then poor Cordelia— And yet not so, since I am sure my love’s More ponderous than my tongue.
LEAR	(to Regan) To thee and thine hereditary ever Remain this ample third of our fair kingdom, No less in space, validity, and pleasure Than that conferred on Goneril. (To Cordelia) Now our joy, Although our last and least, to whose young love The vines of France and milk of Burgundy Strive to be interessed: what can you say to draw A third more opulent than your sisters? Speak.
CORDELIA	Nothing, my lord.
LEAR	Nothing?
CORDELIA	Nothing.
LEAR	Nothing will come of nothing. Speak again.
CORDELIA	Unhappy that I am, I cannot heave My heart into my mouth. I love your majesty According to my bond, no more nor less.
LEAR	How, how, Cordelia? Mend your speech a little Lest you may mar your fortunes.
CORDELIA	Good my lord, You have begot me, bred me, loved me. I return those duties back as are right fit- Obey you, love you, and most honour you. Why have my sisters husbands if they say They love you all? Haply when I shall wed That lord whose hand must take my plight shall carry Half my love with him, half my care and duty. Sure, I shall never marry like my sisters.
LEAR	But goes thy heart with this?
CORDELIA	Ay, my good lord.
LEAR	So young and so untender?
CORDELIA	So young, my lord, and true.
LEAR	Let it be so. Thy truth then be thy dower; For by the sacred radiance of the sun, The mysteries of Hecate and the night, By all the operation of the orbs From whom we do exist and cease to be, Here I disclaim all my paternal care, Propinquity, and property of blood, And as a stranger to my heart and me Hold thee from this for ever. The barbarous Scythian, Or he that makes his generation messes To gorge his appetite, shall to my bosom Be as well neighboured, pitied, and relieved As thou, my sometime daughter.
KENT	Good my liege—
LEAR	Peace, Kent. Come not between the dragon and his wrath. I loved her most, and thought to set my rest
(didascalia)	On her kind nursery. To Cordelia Hence, and avoid
LEAR	my sight!— So be my grave my peace as here I give Her father’s heart from her. Call France. Who stirs? Call Burgundy.
(didascalia)	Exit
LEAR	one or
(didascalia)	more
LEAR	Cornwall and Albany, With my two daughters’ dowers digest the third. Let pride, which she calls plainness, marry her. I do invest you jointly with my power, Pre-eminence, and all the large effects That troop with majesty. Ourself by monthly course, With reservation of an hundred knights By you to be sustained, shall our abode Make with you by due turn. Only we shall retain The name and all th’addition to a king. The sway, Revenue, execution of the rest, Beloved sons, be yours; which to confirm, This crownet part between you.
KENT	Royal Lear, Whom I have ever honoured as my king, Loved as my father, as my master followed, As my great patron thought on in my prayers—
LEAR	The bow is bent and drawn; make from the shaft.
KENT	Let it fall rather, though the fork invade The region of my heart. Be Kent unmannerly When Lear is mad. What wouldst thou do, old man? Think’st thou that duty shall have dread to speak When power to flattery bows? To plainness honour’s bound When majesty falls to folly. Reserve thy state, And in thy best consideration check This hideous rashness. Answer my life my judgement, Thy youngest daughter does not love thee least, Nor are those empty-hearted whose low sounds Reverb no hollowness.
LEAR	Kent, on thy life, no more!
KENT	My life I never held but as a pawn To wage against thine enemies, ne’er feared to lose it, Thy safety being motive.
LEAR	Out of my sight!
KENT	See better, Lear, and let me still remain The true blank of thine eye.
LEAR	Now, by Apollo—
KENT	Now, by Apollo, King, thou swear’st thy gods in vain.
(didascalia)	LEAR making to strike him
KENT	O vassal! Miscreant!
(didascalia)	ALBANY and CORDELIA Dear sir, forbear.
KENT	(to Lear) Kill thy physician, and thy fee bestow Upon the foul disease. Revoke thy gift, Or whilst I can vent clamour from my throat I’ll tell thee thou dost evil.
LEAR	Hear me, recreant; on thine allegiance hear me! That thou hast sought to make us break our vows, Which we durst never yet, and with strained pride To come betwixt our sentence and our power, Which nor our nature nor our place can bear, Our potency made good take thy reward: Five days we do allot thee for provision To shield thee from disasters of the world, And on the sixth to turn thy hated back Upon our kingdom. If on the seventh day following Thy banished trunk be found in our dominions, The moment is thy death. Away! By Jupiter, This shall not be revoked.
KENT	Fare thee well, King; sith thus thou wilt appear, Freedom lives hence, and banishment is here. (To Cordelia) The gods to their dear shelter take thee, maid, That justly think’st, and hast most rightly said. (To Goneril and Regan) And your large speeches may your deeds approve, That good effects may spring from words of love. Thus Kent, O princes, bids you all adieu; He’ll shape his old course in a country new. Exit
(didascalia)	Flourish. Enter the Duke of Gloucester with the
KENT	King of France, the Duke of Burgundy, and attendants
(didascalia)	CORDELIA
KENT	Here’s France and Burgundy, my noble lord.
LEAR	My lord of Burgundy, We first address toward you, who with this King Hath rivalled for our daughter: what in the least Will you require in present dower with her Or cease your quest of love?
BURGUNDY	Most royal majesty, I crave no more than hath your highness offered; Nor will you tender less.
LEAR	Right noble Burgundy, When she was dear to us we did hold her so; But now her price is fallen. Sir, there she stands. If aught within that little seeming substance, Or all of it, with our displeasure pieced, And nothing more, may fitly like your grace, She’s there, and she is yours.
BURGUNDY	I know no answer.
LEAR	Will you with those infirmities she owes, Unfriended, new adopted to our hate, Dowered with our curse and strangered with our oath, Take her or leave her?
BURGUNDY	Pardon me, royal sir. Election makes not up in such conditions.
LEAR	Then leave her, sir; for by the power that made me, I tell you all her wealth. (To France) For you, great King, I would not from your love make such a stray To match you where I hate, therefore beseech you T‘avert your liking a more worthier way Than on a wretch whom nature is ashamed Almost t’acknowledge hers.
FRANCE	This is most strange, That she whom even but now was your best object, The argument of your praise, balm of your age, The best, the dear’st, should in this trice of time Commit a thing so monstrous to dismantle So many folds of favour. Sure, her offence Must be of such unnatural degree That monsters it, or your fore-vouched affection Fall into taint; which to believe of her Must be a faith that reason without miracle Should never plant in me.
CORDELIA	(to Lear) I yet beseech your majesty, If for I want that glib and oily art To speak and purpose not—since what I well intend, I’ll do’t before I speak—that you make known It is no vicious blot, murder, or foulness, No unchaste action or dishonoured step That hath deprived me of your grace and favour, But even the want of that for which I am richer— A still-soliciting eye, and such a tongue That I am glad I have not, though not to have it Hath lost me in your liking.
LEAR	Better thou Hadst not been born than not t’have pleased me better.
FRANCE	Is it but this—a tardiness in nature, Which often leaves the history unspoke That it intends to do?—My lord of Burgundy, What say you to the lady? Love’s not love When it is mingled with regards that stands Aloof from th’entire point. Will you have her? She is herself a dowry.
BURGUNDY	(to Lear) Royal King, Give but that portion which yourself proposed, And here I take Cordelia by the hand, Duchess of Burgundy.
LEAR	Nothing. I have sworn. I am firm.
BURGUNDY	(to Cordelia) I am sorry, then, you have so lost a father That you must lose a husband.
CORDELIA	Peace be with Burgundy; Since that respect and fortunes are his love, I shall not be his wife.
FRANCE	Fairest Cordelia, that art most rich, being poor; Most choice, forsaken; and most loved, despised: Thee and thy virtues here I seize upon. Be it lawful, I take up what’s cast away. Gods, gods! ‘Tis strange that from their cold’st neglect My love should kindle to inflamed respect.— Thy dowerless daughter, King, thrown to my chance, Is queen of us, of ours, and our fair France. Not all the dukes of wat’rish Burgundy Can buy this unprized precious maid of me.— Bid them farewell, Cordelia, though unkind. Thou losest here, a better where to find.
LEAR	Thou hast her, France. Let her be thine, for we Have no such daughter, nor shall ever see That face of hers again. Therefore be gone, Without our grace, our love, our benison.— Come, noble Burgundy. Flourish. Exeunt all but France and the sisters
FRANCE	Bid farewell to your sisters.
CORDELIA	Ye jewels of our father, with washed eyes Cordelia leaves you. I know you what you are, And like a sister am most loath to call Your faults as they are named. Love well our father. To your professed bosoms I commit him. But yet, alas, stood I within his grace I would prefer him to a better place. So farewell to you both.
REGAN	Prescribe not us our duty.
GONERIL	Let your study Be to content your lord, who hath received you At fortune’s alms. You have obedience scanted, And well are worth the want that you have wanted.
CORDELIA	Time shall unfold what pleated cunning hides, Who covert faults at last with shame derides. Well may you prosper.
FRANCE	Come, my fair Cordelia.
(didascalia)	Exeunt France and Cordelia
GONERIL	Sister, it is not little I have to say of what most nearly appertains to us both. I think our father will hence tonight.
REGAN	That’s most certain, and with you. Next month with us.
GONERIL	You see how full of changes his age is. The observation we have made of it hath been little. He always loved our sister most, and with what poor judgement he hath now cast her off appears too grossly.
REGAN	’Tis the infirmity of his age; yet he hath ever but slenderly known himself.
GONERIL	The best and soundest of his time hath been but rash; then must we look from his age to receive not alone the imperfections of long-engrafted condition, but therewithal the unruly waywardness that infirm and choleric years bring with them.
REGAN	Such unconstant starts are we like to have from him as this of Kent’s banishment.
GONERIL	There is further compliment of leave-taking between France and him. Pray you, let us sit together. If our father carry authority with such disposition as he bears, this last surrender of his will but offend us.
REGAN	We shall further think of it. GONERIL We must do something, and i’th’ heat.
(didascalia)	Exeunt

Speaker	Line
(didascalia)	Enter Edmond the bastard
EDMOND	Thou, nature, art my goddess. To thy law My services are bound. Wherefore should I Stand in the plague of custom and permit The curiosity of nations to deprive me For that I am some twelve or fourteen moonshines Lag of a brother? Why ‘bastard’? Wherefore ‘base’, When my dimensions are as well compact, My mind as generous, and my shape as true As honest madam’s issue? Why brand they us With ‘base’, with ‘baseness, bastardy—base, base’— Who in the lusty stealth of nature take More composition and fierce quality Than doth within a dull, stale, tirèd bed Go to th’ creating a whole tribe of fops Got ‘tween a sleep and wake? Well then, Legitimate Edgar, I must have your land. Our father’s love is to the bastard Edmond As to th’ legitimate. Fine word, ‘legitimate’. Well, my legitimate, if this letter speed And my invention thrive, Edmond the base Shall to th’ legitimate. I grow, I prosper. Now gods, stand up for bastards!
(didascalia)	Enter the Duke of Gloucester. Edmond reads a letter
GLOUCESTER	Kent banished thus, and France in choler parted, And the King gone tonight, prescribed his power, Confined to exhibition—all this done Upon the gad?—Edmond, how now? What news?
EDMOND	So please your lordship, none.
GLOUCESTER	Why so earnestly seek you to put up that letter?
EDMOND	I know no news, my lord. GLOUCESTER What paper were you reading?
EDMOND	Nothing, my lord.
GLOUCESTER	No? What needed then that terrible dispatch of it into your pocket? The quality of nothing hath not such need to hide itself. Let’s see. Come, if it be nothing I shall not need spectacles.
EDMOND	I beseech you, sir, pardon me. It is a letter from my brother that I have not all o‘er-read; and for so much as I have perused, I find it not fit for your o’erlooking. GLOUCESTER Give me the letter, sir.
EDMOND	I shall offend either to detain or give it. The contents, as in part I understand them, are to blame. GLOUCESTER Let’s see, let’s see.
EDMOND	I hope for my brother’s justification he wrote this but as an assay or taste of my virtue. He gives Gloucester a letter
GLOUCESTER	(reads) ‘This policy and reverence of age makes the world bitter to the best of our times, keeps our fortunes from us till our oldness cannot relish them. I begin to find an idle and fond bondage in the oppression of aged tyranny, who sways not as it hath power but as it is suffered. Come to me, that of this I may speak more. If our father would sleep till I waked him, you should enjoy half his revenue for ever and live the beloved of your brother, Edgar.’ Hum, conspiracy! ‘Sleep till I wake him, you should enjoy half his revenue’—my son Edgar! Had he a hand to write this, a heart and brain to breed it in? When came you to this? Who brought it?
EDMOND	It was not brought me, my lord, there’s the cunning of it. I found it thrown in at the casement of my closet.
GLOUCESTER	You know the character to be your brother’s?
EDMOND	If the matter were good, my lord, I durst swear it were his; but in respect of that, I would fain think it were not. GLOUCESTER) It is his.
EDMOND	It is his hand, my lord, but I hope his heart is not in the contents.
GLOUCESTER	Has he never before sounded you in this business?
EDMOND	Never, my lord; but I have heard him oft maintain it to be fit that, sons at perfect age and fathers declined, the father should be as ward to the son, and the son manage his revenue.
GLOUCESTER	O villain, villain—his very opinion in the letter! Abhorred villain, unnatural, detested, brutish villain—worse than brutish! Go, sirrah, seek him. I’ll apprehend him. Abominable villain! Where is he?
EDMOND	I do not well know, my lord. If it shall please you to suspend your indignation against my brother till you can derive from him better testimony of his intent, you should run a certain course; where if you violently proceed against him, mistaking his purpose, it would make a great gap in your own honour and shake in pieces the heart of his obedience. I dare pawn down my life for him that he hath writ this to feel my affection to your honour, and to no other pretence of danger.
GLOUCESTER	Think you so?
EDMOND	If your honour judge it meet, I will place you where you shall hear us confer of this, and by an auricular assurance have your satisfaction, and that without any further delay than this very evening.
GLOUCESTER	He cannot be such a monster. Edmond, seek him out, wind me into him, I pray you. Frame the business after your own wisdom. I would unstate myself to be in a due resolution.
EDMOND	I will seek him, sir, presently, convey the business as I shall find means, and acquaint you withal.
GLOUCESTER	These late eclipses in the sun and moon portend no good to us. Though the wisdom of nature can reason it thus and thus, yet nature finds itself scourged by the sequent effects. Love cools, friendship falls off, brothers divide; in cities, mutinies; in countries, discord; in palaces, treason; and the bond cracked ‘twixt son and father. This villain of mine comes under the prediction: there’s son against father. The King falls from bias of nature: there’s father against child. We have seen the best of our time. Machinations, hollowness, treachery, and all ruinous disorders follow us disquietly to our graves. Find out this villain, Edmond; it shall lose thee nothing. Do it carefully. And the noble and true-hearted Kent banished, his offence honesty! ’Tis strange.
(didascalia)	Exit
EDMOND	This is the excellent foppery of the world: that when we are sick in fortune—often the surfeits of our own behaviour—we make guilty of our disasters the sun, the moon, and stars, as if we were villains on necessity, fools by heavenly compulsion, knaves, thieves, and treachers by spherical predominance, drunkards, liars, and adulterers by an enforced obedience of planetary influence, and all that we are evil in by a divine thrusting on. An admirable evasion of whore-master man, to lay his goatish disposition on the charge of a star! My father compounded with my mother under the Dragon’s tail and my nativity was under Ursa Major, so that it follows I am rough and lecherous. Fut! I should have been that I am had the maidenliest star in the firmament twinkled on my bastardizing.
(didascalia)	Enter Edgar
EDMOND	Pat he comes, like the catastrophe of the old comedy. My cue is villainous melancholy, with a sigh like Tom o’ Bedlam.
(didascalia)	He reads a book
EDMOND	—O, these eclipses do portend these divisions. Fa, so, la, mi.
EDGAR	How now, brother Edmond, what serious contemplation are you in?
EDMOND	I am thinking, brother, of a prediction I read this other day, what should follow these eclipses.
EDGAR	Do you busy yourself with that?
EDMOND	I promise you, the effects he writes of succeed unhappily. When saw you my father last?
EDGAR	The night gone by.
EDMOND	Spake you with him?
EDGAR	Ay, two hours together.
EDMOND	Parted you in good terms? Found you no displeasure in him by word nor countenance?
EDGAR	None at all.
EDMOND	Bethink yourself wherein you may have offended him, and at my entreaty forbear his presence until some little time hath qualified the heat of his displeasure, which at this instant so rageth in him that with the mischief of your person it would scarcely allay.
EDGAR	Some villain hath done me wrong.
EDMOND	That’s my fear. I pray you have a continent forbearance till the speed of his rage goes slower; and, as I say, retire with me to my lodging, from whence I will fitly bring you to hear my lord speak. Pray ye, go. There’s my key. If you do stir abroad, go armed.
EDGAR	Armed, brother?
EDMOND	Brother, I advise you to the best. I am no honest man if there be any good meaning toward you. I have told you what I have seen and heard but faintly, nothing like the image and horror of it. Pray you, away.
EDGAR	Shall I hear from you anon?
EDMOND	I do serve you in this business.
(didascalia)	Exit Edgar
EDMOND	A credulous father, and a brother noble, Whose nature is so far from doing harms That he suspects none; on whose foolish honesty My practices ride easy. I see the business. Let me, if not by birth, have lands by wit. All with me’s meet that I can fashion fit.
(didascalia)	Exit

Speaker	Line
(didascalia)	Enter Goneril and Oswald, her steward GONERIL
(didascalia)	Did my father strike my gentleman For chiding of his fool?
OSWALD	Ay, madam.
GONERIL	By day and night he wrongs me. Every hour He flashes into one gross crime or other That sets us all at odds. I’ll not endure it. His knights grow riotous, and himself upbraids us On every trifle. When he returns from hunting I will not speak with him. Say I am sick. If you come slack of former services You shall do well; the fault of it I’ll answer.
(didascalia)	Horns within
OSWALD	He’s coming, madam. I hear him.
GONERIL	Put on what weary negligence you please, You and your fellows. I’d have it come to question. If he distaste it, let him to my sister, Whose mind and mine I know in that are one. Remember what I have said.
OSWALD	Well, madam. GONERI, And let his knights have colder looks among you. What grows of it, no matter. Advise your fellows so. I’ll write straight to my sister to hold my course. Prepare for dinner.
(didascalia)	Exeunt severally

Speaker	Line
(didascalia)	Enter the Earl of Kent, disguised
KENT	If but as well I other accents borrow That can my speech diffuse, my good intent May carry through itself to that full issue For which I razed my likeness. Now, banished Kent, If thou canst serve where thou dost stand condemned, So may it come thy master, whom thou lov’st, Shall find thee full of labours. Horns within. Enter King Lear and attendants from hunting
LEAR	Let me not stay a jot for dinner. Go get it ready.
(didascalia)	Exit one
LEAR	(To Kent) How now, what art thou?
KENT	A man, sir.
LEAR	What dost thou profess? What wouldst thou with us?
KENT	I do profess to be no less than I seem, to serve him truly that will put me in trust, to love him that is honest, to converse with him that is wise and says little, to fear judgement, to fight when I cannot choose, and to eat no fish.
LEAR	What art thou?
KENT	A very honest-hearted fellow, and as poor as the King.
LEAR	If thou be‘st as poor for a subject as he’s for a king, thou’rt poor enough. What wouldst thou?
KENT	Service.
LEAR	Who wouldst thou serve?
KENT	You.
LEAR	Dost thou know me, fellow?
KENT	No, sir, but you have that in your countenance which I would fain call master.
LEAR	What’s that?
KENT	Authority.
LEAR	What services canst do?
KENT	I can keep honest counsel, ride, run, mar a curious tale in telling it, and deliver a plain message bluntly. That which ordinary men are fit for I am qualified in; and the best of me is diligence.
LEAR	How old art thou?
KENT	Not so young, sir, to love a woman for singing, nor so old to dote on her for anything. I have years on my back forty-eight.
(didascalia)	LEAR Follow me. Thou shalt serve me, if I like thee no worse after dinner. I will not part from thee yet. Dinner, ho, dinner! Where’s my knave, my fool? Go you and call my fool hither. Exit one
(didascalia)	Enter Oswald the steward
KENT	You, you, sirrah, where’s my daughter?
OSWALD	So please you—
(didascalia)	Exit
LEAR	What says the fellow there? Call the clotpoll back.
(didascalia)	Exit a knight
LEAR	Where’s my fool? Ho, I think the world’s asleep.
(didascalia)	Enter a Knight
LEAR	How now? Where’s that mongrel?
KNIGHT	He says, my lord, your daughter is not well.
LEAR	Why came not the slave back to me when I called him?
KNIGHT	Sir, he answered me in the roundest manner he would not.
LEAR	A would not?
KNIGHT	My lord, I know not what the matter is, but to my judgement your highness is not entertained with that ceremonious affection as you were wont. There’s a great abatement of kindness appears as well in the general dependants as in the Duke himself also, and your daughter.
LEAR	Ha, sayst thou so?
KNIGHT	I beseech you pardon me, my lord, if I be mistaken, for my duty cannot be silent when I think your highness wronged.
LEAR	Thou but rememberest me of mine own conception. I have perceived a most faint neglect of late, which I have rather blamed as mine own jealous curiosity than as a very pretence and purpose of unkindness. I will look further into’t. But where’s my fool? I have not seen him these two days.
KNIGHT	Since my young lady’s going into France, sir, the fool hath much pined away.
(didascalia)	LEAR No more of that, I have noted it well. Go you and tell my daughter I would speak with her. Exit one Go you, call hither my fool. Exit one
(didascalia)	Enter Oswald the steward crossing the stage
KNIGHT	O you, sir, you, come you hither, sir, who am I, sir? OSWALD My lady’s father.
LEAR	My lady’s father? My lord’s knave, you whoreson dog, you slave, you cur!
OSWALD	I am none of these, my lord, I beseech your pardon.
LEAR	Do you bandy looks with me, you rascal?
(didascalia)	Lear strikes him
OSWALD	I’ll not be strucken, my lord.
(didascalia)	KENT tripping him Nor tripped neither, you base football player.
LEAR	(to Kent) I thank thee, fellow. Thou serv’st me, and I’ll love thee.
KENT	(to Oswald) Come, sir, arise, away. I’ll teach you differences. Away, away. If you will measure your lubber’s length again, tarry; but away, go to. Have you wisdom? So. Exit Oswald
LEAR	Now, my friendly knave, I thank thee.
(didascalia)	Enter Lear’s Fool
LEAR	There’s earnest of thy service. He gives Kent money
FOOL	Let me hire him, too. (To Kent) Here’s my coxcomb.
LEAR	How now, my pretty knave, how dost thou?
FOOL	(to Kent) Sirrah, you were best take my coxcomb.
LEAR	Why, my boy?
FOOL	Why? For taking one’s part that’s out of favour. (To Kent) Nay, an thou canst not smile as the wind sits, thou’lt catch cold shortly. There, take my coxcomb. Why, this fellow has banished two on’s daughters and did the third a blessing against his will. If thou follow him, thou must needs wear my coxcomb. (To Lear) How now, nuncle? Would I had two coxcombs and two daughters.
LEAR	Why, my boy?
FOOL	If I gave them all my living I’d keep my coxcombs myself. There’s mine; beg another off thy daughters.
LEAR	Take heed, sirrah—the whip.
FOOL	Truth’s a dog must to kennel. He must be whipped out when the Lady Brach may stand by th’ fire and stink.
LEAR	A pestilent gall to me!
(didascalia)	FOOL to Kent Sirrah, I’ll teach thee a speech.
LEAR	Do.
FOOL	Mark it, nuncle: Have more than thou showest, Speak less than thou knowest, Lend less than thou owest, Ride more than thou goest, Learn more than thou trowest, Set less than thou throwest, Leave thy drink and thy whore, And keep in-a-door, And thou shalt have more Than two tens to a score.
KENT	This is nothing, fool.
FOOL	Then ’tis like the breath of an unfee’d lawyer: you gave me nothing for’t. (To Lear) Can you make no use of nothing, nuncle?
LEAR	Why no, boy. Nothing can be made out of nothing.
FOOL	(to Kent) Prithee, tell him so much the rent of his land comes to. He will not believe a fool.
LEAR	A bitter fool.
FOOL	Dost know the difference, my boy, between a bitter fool and a sweet one?
LEAR	No, lad. Teach me.
FOOL	Nuncle, give me an egg, and I’ll give thee two crowns.
LEAR	What two crowns shall they be?
(didascalia)	FOOL Why, after I have cut the egg i‘th’ middle and eat up the meat, the two crowns of the egg. When thou clovest thy crown i’th’ middle and gavest away both parts, thou borest thine ass o‘th’ back o’er the dirt. Thou hadst little wit in thy bald crown when thou gavest thy golden one away. If I speak like myself in this, let him be whipped that first finds it so. Sings Fools had ne’er less grace in a year,
LEAR	For wise men are grown foppish, And know not how their wits to wear, Their manners are so apish.
LEAR	When were you wont to be so full of songs, sirrah?
(didascalia)	FOOL I have used it, nuncle, e’er since thou madest thy daughters thy mothers; for when thou gavest them the rod and puttest down thine own breeches, Sings Then they for sudden joy did weep,
LEAR	And I for sorrow sung, That such a king should play bo-peep And go the fools among. Prithee, nuncle, keep a schoolmaster that can teach thy fool to lie. I would fain learn to lie.
LEAR	An you lie, sirrah, we’ll have you whipped.
FOOL	I marvel what kin thou and thy daughters are. They’ll have me whipped for speaking true, thou‘lt have me whipped for lying, and sometimes I am whipped for holding my peace. I had rather be any kind o’ thing than a fool; and yet I would not be thee, nuncle. Thou hast pared thy wit o’ both sides and left nothing i’th’ middle.
(didascalia)	Enter Goneril
FOOL	Here comes one o’ the parings.
LEAR	How now, daughter? What makes that frontlet on? You are too much of late i’th’ frown.
(didascalia)	FOOL Thou wast a pretty fellow when thou hadst no need to care for her frowning. Now thou art an O without a figure. I am better than thou art, now. I am a fool; thou art nothing. To Goneril Yes, forsooth, I will hold my tongue; so your face bids me, though you say nothing.
(didascalia)	Sings Mum, mum.
LEAR	He that keeps nor crust nor crumb, Weary of all, shall want some. That’s a shelled peascod.
GONERIL	(to Lear) Not only, sir, this your all-licensed fool, But other of your insolent retinue Do hourly carp and quarrel, breaking forth In rank and not-to-be-endured riots. Sir, I had thought by making this well known unto you To have found a safe redress, but now grow fearful, By what yourself too late have spoke and done, That you protect this course, and put it on By your allowance; which if you should, the fault Would not scape censure, nor the redresses sleep Which in the tender of a wholesome weal Might in their working do you that offence, Which else were shame, that then necessity Will call discreet proceeding.
FOOL	(to Lear) For, you know, nuncle,
(didascalia)	Sings The hedge-sparrow fed the cuckoo so long
FOOL	That it’s had it head bit off by it young; so out went the candle, and we were left darkling.
LEAR	(to Goneril) Are you our daughter?
GONERIL	I would you would make use of your good wisdom, Whereof I know you are fraught, and put away These dispositions which of late transport you From what you rightly are.
(didascalia)	FOOL May not an ass know when the cart draws the horse? Sings ‘Whoop, jug, I love thee!’
LEAR	Does any here know me? This is not Lear. Does Lear walk thus, speak thus? Where are his eyes? Either his notion weakens, his discernings Are lethargied—ha, waking? ’Tis not so. Who is it that can tell me who I am?
FOOL	Lear’s shadow.
LEAR	(to Goneril) Your name, fair gentlewoman?
GONERIL	This admiration, sir, is much o’th’ savour Of other your new pranks. I do beseech you To understand my purposes aright, As you are old and reverend, should be wise. Here do you keep a hundred knights and squires, Men so disordered, so debauched and bold That this our court, infected with their manners, Shows like a riotous inn. Epicurism and lust Makes it more like a tavern or a brothel Than a graced palace. The shame itself doth speak For instant remedy. Be then desired, By her that else will take the thing she begs, A little to disquantity your train, And the remainders that shall still depend To be such men as may besort your age, Which know themselves and you.
LEAR	Darkness and devils! Saddle my horses, call my train together!—
(didascalia)	Exit one or more
LEAR	Degenerate bastard, I’ll not trouble thee. Yet have I left a daughter.
GONERIL	You strike my people, and your disordered rabble Make servants of their betters.
(didascalia)	Enter the Duke of Albany
LEAR	Woe that too late repents! Is it your will? Speak, sir.—Prepare my horses.
(didascalia)	Exit one or more
LEAR	Ingratitude, thou marble-hearted fiend, More hideous when thou show’st thee in a child Than the sea-monster—
ALBANY	Pray sir, be patient.
LEAR	(to Goneril) Detested kite, thou liest. My train are men of choice and rarest parts, That all particulars of duty know, And in the most exact regard support The worships of their name. O most small fault, How ugly didst thou in Cordelia show, Which, like an engine, wrenched my frame of nature From the fixed place, drew from my heart all love, And added to the gall! O Lear, Lear, Lear! Beat at this gate that let thy folly in And thy dear judgement out.—Go, go, my people!
ALBANY	My lord, I am guiltless, as I am ignorant Of what hath moved you.
LEAR	It may be so, my lord. Hear, nature; hear, dear goddess, hear: Suspend thy purpose if thou didst intend To make this creature fruitful. Into her womb convey sterility. Dry up in her the organs of increase, And from her derogate body never spring A babe to honour her. If she must teem, Create her child of spleen, that it may live And be a thwart disnatured torment to her. Let it stamp wrinkles in her brow of youth, With cadent tears fret channels in her cheeks, Turn all her mother’s pains and benefits To laughter and contempt, that she may feel— That she may feel How sharper than a serpent’s tooth it is To have a thankless child. Away, away!
(didascalia)	Exeunt Lear, Kent, and attendants
ALBANY	Now, gods that we adore, whereof comes this?
GONERIL	Never afflict yourself to know more of it, But let his disposition have that scope As dotage gives it.
(didascalia)	Enter King Lear
LEAR	What, fifty of my followers at a clap?
(didascalia)	Within a fortnight?
ALBANY	What’s the matter, sir?
LEAR	I’ll tell thee. (To Goneril) Life and death! I am ashamed That thou hast power to shake my manhood thus, That these hot tears, which break from me perforce, Should make thee worth them. Blasts and fogs upon thee! Th’untented woundings of a father’s curse Pierce every sense about thee! Old fond eyes, Beweep this cause again I’ll pluck ye out And cast you, with the waters that you loose, To temper clay. Ha! Let it be so. I have another daughter Who, I am sure, is kind and comfortable. When she shall hear this of thee, with her nails She’ll flay thy wolvish visage. Thou shalt find That I’ll resume the shape which thou dost think I have cast off for ever.
(didascalia)	Exit
GONERIL	Do you mark that?
ALBANY	I cannot be so partial, Goneril, To the great love I bear you—
GONERIL	Pray you, content. What, Oswald, ho!— You, sir, more knave than fool, after your master.
FOOL	Nuncle Lear, nuncle Lear, Tarry, take the fool with thee. A fox when one has caught her, And such a daughter, Should sure to the slaughter, If my cap would buy a halter. So, the fool follows after. Exit
GONERIL	This man hath had good counsel—a hundred knights? ’Tis politic and safe to let him keep At point a hundred knights, yes, that on every dream, Each buzz, each fancy, each complaint, dislike, He may enguard his dotage with their powers And hold our lives in mercy.—Oswald, I say!
ALBANY	Well, you may fear too far.
GONERIL	Safer than trust too far. Let me still take away the harms I fear, Not fear still to be taken. I know his heart. What he hath uttered I have writ my sister. If she sustain him and his hundred knights When I have showed th’unfitness—
(didascalia)	Enter Oswald the steward
GONERIL	How now, Oswald? What, have you writ that letter to my sister?
OSWALD	Ay, madam.
GONERIL	Take you some company, and away to horse. Inform her full of my particular fear, And thereto add such reasons of your own As may compact it more. Get you gone, And hasten your return.
(didascalia)	Exit Oswald
GONERIL	No, no, my lord, This milky gentleness and course of yours, Though I condemn not, yet under pardon You are much more attasked for want of wisdom Than praised for harmful mildness.
ALBANY	How far your eyes may pierce I cannot tell. Striving to better, oft we mar what’s well.
GONERIL	Nay, then—
ALBANY	Well, well, th’event.
(didascalia)	Exeunt

Speaker	Line
(didascalia)	Enter King Lear, the Earl of Kent disguised, the First Gentleman, and Lear’s Fool
(didascalia)	LEAR to
(didascalia)	the Gentleman, giving him a letter Go you before to Gloucester with these letters. Exit Gentleman To Kent, giving him a letter Acquaint my daughter no further with anything you know than comes from her demand out of the letter. If your diligence be not speedy, I shall be there afore you.
KENT	I will not sleep, my lord, till I have delivered your letter. Exit
FOOL	If a man’s brains were in’s heels, were’t not in danger of kibes?
LEAR	Ay, boy.
FOOL	Then, I prithee, be merry: thy wit shall not go slipshod.
LEAR	Ha, ha, ha!
FOOL	Shalt see thy other daughter will use thee kindly, for though she’s as like this as a crab’s like an apple, yet I can tell what I can tell.
LEAR	What canst tell, boy?
FOOL	She will taste as like this as a crab does to a crab. Thou canst tell why one’s nose stands i’th’ middle on ’s face?
LEAR	No.
FOOL	Why, to keep one’s eyes of either side ’s nose, that what a man cannot smell out, a may spy into.
LEAR	I did her wrong.
FOOL	Canst tell how an oyster makes his shell?
LEAR	No.
FOOL	Nor I neither; but I can tell why a snail has a house.
LEAR	Why?
FOOL	Why, to put ’s head in, not to give it away to his daughters and leave his horns without a case.
LEAR	I will forget my nature. So kind a father! Be my horses ready?
FOOL	Thy asses are gone about ’em. The reason why the seven stars are no more than seven is a pretty reason.
LEAR	Because they are not eight.
FOOL	Yes, indeed, thou wouldst make a good fool.
LEAR	To take’t again perforce—monster ingratitude!
FOOL	If thou wert my fool, nuncle, I’d have thee beaten for being old before thy time.
LEAR	How’s that?
FOOL	Thou shouldst not have been old till thou hadst been wise.
LEAR	O, let me not be mad, not mad, sweet heaven! Keep me in temper. I would not be mad.
(didascalia)	Enter the First Gentleman
LEAR	How now, are the horses ready?
(didascalia)	FIRST GENTLEMAN Ready, my lord.
LEAR	(to Fool) Come, boy.
(didascalia)	Exeunt Lear and Gentleman
FOOL	She that’s a maid now, and laughs at my departure, Shall not be a maid long, unless things be cut shorter.
(didascalia)	Exit

Speaker	Line
(didascalia)	Enter Edmond the bastard, and Curan, severally EDMOND Save thee, Curan.
CURAN	And you, sir. I have been with your father, and given him notice that the Duke of Cornwall and Regan his duchess will be here with him this night.
EDMOND	How comes that? CURAN Nay, I know not. You have heard of the news abroad?—I mean the whispered ones, for they are yet but ear-kissing arguments.
EDMOND	Not I. Pray you, what are they?
CURAN	Have you heard of no likely wars toward twixt the Dukes of Cornwall and Albany?
EDMOND	Not a word.
CURAN	You may do then in time. Fare you well, sir.
(didascalia)	Exit
EDMOND	The Duke be here tonight! The better, best. This weaves itself perforce into my business.
(didascalia)	Enter Edgar at a window above
EDMOND	My father hath set guard to take my brother, And I have one thing of a queasy question Which I must act. Briefness and fortune work!— Brother, a word, descend. Brother, I say.
(didascalia)	Edgar climbs down
EDMOND	My father watches. O sir, fly this place. Intelligence is given where you are hid. You have now the good advantage of the night. Have you not spoken ‘gainst the Duke of Cornwall? He’s coming hither, now, i’th’ night, i‘th’ haste, And Regan with him. Have you nothing said Upon his party ’gainst the Duke of Albany? Advise yourself.
EDGAR	I am sure on’t, not a word.
EDMOND	I hear my father coming. Pardon me. In cunning I must draw my sword upon you. Draw. Seem to defend yourself. Now, quit you well. (Calling) Yield, come before my father. Light ho, here! (To Edgar) Fly, brother! (Calling) Torches, torches! (To Edgar) So, farewell.
(didascalia)	Exit Edgar
EDMOND	Some blood drawn on me would beget opinion Of my more fierce endeavour. He wounds his arm I have seen drunkards Do more than this in sport. (Calling) Father, father! Stop, stop! Ho, help!
(didascalia)	Enter the Duke of Gloucester, and servants with torches
GLOUCESTER	Now, Edmond, where’s the villain?
EDMOND	Here stood he in the dark, his sharp sword out, Mumbling of wicked charms, conjuring the moon To stand ’s auspicious mistress.
GLOUCESTER	But where is he?
EDMOND	Look, sir, I bleed.
GLOUCESTER	Where is the villain, Edmond?
EDMOND	Fled this way, sir, when by no means he could—
GLOUCESTER	Pursue him, ho! Go after.
(didascalia)	Exeunt servants
GLOUCESTER	By no means what?
EDMOND	Persuade me to the murder of your lordship, But that I told him the revenging gods ‘Gainst parricides did all the thunder bend, Spoke with how manifold and strong a bond The child was bound to th’ father. Sir, in fine, Seeing how loathly opposite I stood To his unnatural purpose, in fell motion With his prepared sword he charges home My unprovided body, latched mine arm; And when he saw my best alarumed spirits Bold in the quarrel’s right, roused to th’encounter, Or whether ghasted by the noise I made, Full suddenly he fled.
GLOUCESTER	Let him fly far, Not in this land shall he remain uncaught, And found, dispatch. The noble Duke my master, My worthy arch and patron, comes tonight. By his authority I will proclaim it That he which finds him shall deserve our thanks, Bringing the murderous coward to the stake; He that conceals him, death.
EDMOND	When I dissuaded him from his intent And found him pitched to do it, with curst speech I threatened to discover him. He replied, ‘Thou unpossessing bastard, dost thou think If I would stand against thee, would the reposal Of any trust, virtue, or worth in thee Make thy words faithed? No, what I should deny— As this I would, ay, though thou didst produce My very character—I’d turn it all To thy suggestion, plot, and damned practice, And thou must make a dullard of the world If they not thought the profits of my death Were very pregnant and potential spirits To make thee seek it.’
GLOUCESTER	O strange and fastened villain! Would he deny his letter, said he?
(didascalia)	Tucket within
GLOUCESTER	Hark, the Duke’s trumpets. I know not why he comes. All ports I’ll bar. The villain shall not scape. The Duke must grant me that; besides, his picture I will send far and near, that all the kingdom May have due note of him—and of my land, Loyal and natural boy, I’ll work the means To make thee capable.
(didascalia)	Enter the Duke of Cornwall, Regan, and attendants
CORNWALL	How now, my noble friend? Since I came hither, Which I can call but now, I have heard strange news.
REGAN	If it be true, all vengeance comes too short Which can pursue th’offender. How dost, my lord?
GLOUCESTER	O madam, my old heart is cracked, it’s cracked.
REGAN	What, did my father’s godson seek your life? He whom my father named, your Edgar?
GLOUCESTER	O lady, lady, shame would have it hid!
REGAN	Was he not companion with the riotous knights That tend upon my father?
GLOUCESTER	I know not, madam. ’Tis too bad, too bad.
EDMOND	Yes, madam, he was of that consort.
REGAN	No marvel, then, though he were ill affected. ‘Tis they have put him on the old man’s death, To have th’expense and spoil of his revenues. I have this present evening from my sister Been well informed of them, and with such cautions That if they come to sojourn at my house I’ll not be there.
CORNWALL	Nor I, assure thee, Regan. Edmond, I hear that you have shown your father A childlike office.
EDMOND	It was my duty, sir. GLOUCESTER (to Cornwall) He did bewray his practice, and received This hurt you see striving to apprehend him.
CORNWALL	Is he pursued?
GLOUCESTER	Ay, my good lord.
CORNWALL	If he be taken, he shall never more Be feared of doing harm. Make your own purpose How in my strength you please. For you, Edmond, Whose virtue and obedience doth this instant So much commend itself, you shall be ours. Natures of such deep trust we shall much need. You we first seize on.
EDMOND	I shall serve you, sir, Truly, however else.
GLOUCESTER	(to Cornwall) For him I thank your grace.
CORNWALL	You know not why we came to visit you—
REGAN	Thus out of season, threading dark-eyed night— Occasions, noble Gloucester, of some poise, Wherein we must have use of your advice. Our father he hath writ, so hath our sister, Of differences which I least thought it fit To answer from our home. The several messengers From hence attend dispatch. Our good old friend, Lay comforts to your bosom, and bestow Your needful counsel to our businesses, Which craves the instant use.
GLOUCESTER	I serve you, madam. Your graces are right welcome.
(didascalia)	Flourish. Exeunt
GLOUCESTER	2.2 Enter the Earl of Kent, disguised, and Oswald the steward, severally
OSWALD	Good dawning to thee, friend. Art of this house? KENT Ay.
OSWALD	Where may we set our horses?
KENT	I’th’ mire.
OSWALD	Prithee, if thou lov’st me, tell me. 5 KENT I love thee not.
OSWALD	Why then, I care not for thee.
KENT	If I had thee in Lipsbury pinfold I would make thee care for me.
OSWALD	Why dost thou use me thus? I know thee not.
KENT	Fellow, I know thee.
OSWALD	What dost thou know me for?
KENT	A knave, a rascal, an eater of broken meats, a base, proud, shallow, beggarly, three-suited, hundred-pound, filthy worsted-stocking knave; a lily-livered, action-taking, whoreson, glass-gazing, super-serviceable, finical rogue; one-trunk-inheriting slave; one that wouldst be a bawd in way of good service, and art nothing but the composition of a knave, beggar, coward, pander, and the son and heir of a mongrel bitch, one whom I will beat into clamorous whining if thou deniest the least syllable of thy addition.
OSWALD	Why, what a monstrous fellow art thou, thus to rail on one that is neither known of thee nor knows thee!
KENT	What a brazen-faced varlet art thou, to deny thou knowest me! Is it two days since I tripped up thy heels and beat thee before the King? Draw, you rogue; for though it be night, yet the moon shines.
(didascalia)	He draws his sword
KENT	I’ll make a sop o’th’ moonshine of you, you whoreson, cullionly barber-monger, draw!
OSWALD	Away. I have nothing to do with thee.
KENT	Draw, you rascal. You come with letters against the King, and take Vanity the puppet’s part against the royalty of her father. Draw, you rogue, or I’ll so carbonado your shanks—draw, you rascal, come your ways!
OSWALD	Help, ho, murder, help!
KENT	Strike, you slave! Stand, rogue! Stand, you neat slave, strike! 40
OSWALD	Help, ho, murder, murder!
(didascalia)	Enter Edmond the bastard, then the Duke of
OSWALD	Cornwall, Regan, the Duke of Gloucester, and servants
EDMOND	How now, what’s the matter? Part.
KENT	With you, goodman boy. If you please, come, I’ll flesh ye. Come on, young master.
GLOUCESTER	Weapons? Arms? What’s the matter here?
CORNWALL	Keep peace, upon your lives. He dies that strikes again. What is the matter?
REGAN	The messengers from our sister and the King. CORNWALL (to Kent and Oswald) What is your difference? Speak.
OSWALD	I am scarce in breath, my lord.
KENT	No marvel, you have so bestirred your valour, you cowardly rascal. Nature disclaims in thee; a tailor made thee.
CORNWALL	Thou art a strange fellow—a tailor make a man?
KENT	A tailor, sir. A stone-cutter or a painter could not have made him so ill though they had been but two years o’th’ trade.
CORNWALL	Speak yet; how grew your quarrel?
OSWALD	This ancient ruffian, sir, whose life I have spared at suit of his grey beard—
KENT	Thou whoreson Z, thou unnecessary letter—(to Cornwall) my lord, if you’ll give me leave I will tread this unbolted villain into mortar and daub the wall of a jakes with him. (To Oswald) Spare my grey beard, you wagtail?
CORNWALL	Peace, sirrah. You beastly knave, know you no reverence?
KENT	Yes, sir, but anger hath a privilege.
CORNWALL	Why art thou angry?
KENT	That such a slave as this should wear a sword, Who wears no honesty. Such smiling rogues as these, Like rats, oft bite the holy cords a-twain Which are too intrince t’unloose, smooth every passion That in the natures of their lords rebel; Being oil to fire, snow to the colder moods, Renege, affirm, and turn their halcyon beaks With every gall and vary of their masters, Knowing naught, like dogs, but following.
(didascalia)	To Oswald A plague upon your epileptic visage!
KENT	Smile you my speeches as I were a fool? Goose, an I had you upon Sarum Plain I’d drive ye cackling home to Camelot.
CORNWALL	What, art thou mad, old fellow?
(didascalia)	GLOUCESTER to Kent How fell you out? Say that.
KENT	No contraries hold more antipathy Than I and such a knave.
CORNWALL	Why dost thou call him knave? What is his fault?
KENT	His countenance likes me not.
CORNWALL	No more perchance does mine, nor his, nor hers.
KENT	Sir, ’tis my occupation to be plain: I have seen better faces in my time Than stands on any shoulder that I see Before me at this instant.
CORNWALL	This is some fellow Who, having been praised for bluntness, doth affect A saucy roughness, and constrains the garb Quite from his nature. He cannot flatter, he; An honest mind and plain, he must speak truth. An they will take’t, so; if not, he’s plain. These kind of knaves I know, which in this plainness Harbour more craft and more corrupter ends Than twenty silly-ducking observants That stretch their duties nicely.
KENT	Sir, in good faith, in sincere verity, Under th‘allowance of your great aspect, Whose influence, like the wreath of radiant fire On flick’ring Phoebus’ front—
CORNWALL	What mean’st by this?
KENT	To go out of my dialect, which you discommend so much. I know, sir, I am no flatterer. He that beguiled you in a plain accent was a plain knave, which for my part I will not be, though I should win your displeasure to entreat me to’t.
CORNWALL	(to Oswald) What was th’offence you gave him?
OSWALD	I never gave him any. It pleased the King his master very late To strike at me upon his misconstruction, When he, compact, and flattering his displeasure, Tripped me behind; being down, insulted, railed, And put upon him such a deal of man That worthied him, got praises of the King For him attempting who was self-subdued, And in the fleshment of this dread exploit Drew on me here again.
KENT	None of these rogues and cowards But Ajax is their fool.
CORNWALL	Fetch forth the stocks!
(didascalia)	Exeunt some servants
CORNWALL	You stubborn, ancient knave, you reverend braggart, We’ll teach you.
KENT	Sir, I am too old to learn. Call not your stocks for me. I serve the King, On whose employment I was sent to you. You shall do small respect, show too bold malice Against the grace and person of my master, Stocking his messenger.
(didascalia)	CORNWALL calling
KENT	Fetch forth the stocks!— As I have life and honour, there shall he sit till noon.
REGAN	Till noon?—till night, my lord, and all night too.
KENT	Why, madam, if I were your father’s dog You should not use me so.
REGAN	Sir, being his knave, I will. Stocks brought out
CORNWALL	This is a fellow of the selfsame colour Our sister speaks of.—Come, bring away the stocks.
GLOUCESTER	Let me beseech your grace not to do so. The King his master needs must take it ill That he, so slightly valued in his messenger, Should have him thus restrained.
CORNWALL	I’ll answer that.
(didascalia)	Theg put Kent in the stocks
REGAN	My sister may receive it much more worse To have her gentlemen abused, assaulted.
CORNWALL	Come, my good lord, away!
(didascalia)	Exeunt all but Gloucester and Kent
GLOUCESTER	I am sorry for thee, friend. ’Tis the Duke’s pleasure, Whose disposition, all the world well knows, Will not be rubbed nor stopped. I’ll entreat for thee.
KENT	Pray do not, sir. I have watched and travelled hard. Some time I shall sleep out; the rest I’ll whistle. A good man’s fortune may grow out at heels. Give you good morrow.
GLOUCESTER	The Duke’s to blame in this; ’twill be ill taken. Exit
KENT	Good King, that must approve the common say: Thou out of heaven’s benediction com’st To the warm sun.
(didascalia)	He takes out a letter
KENT	Approach, thou beacon to this under globe, That by thy comfortable beams I may Peruse this letter. Nothing almost sees miracles But misery. I know ‘tis from Cordelia, Who hath now fortunately been informed Of my obscured course, and shall find time For this enormous state, seeking to give Losses their remedies. All weary and o’erwatched, Take vantage, heavy eyes, not to behold This shameful lodging. Fortune, good night; Smile once more; turn thy wheel. He sleeps
(didascalia)	Enter Edgar
EDGAR	I heard myself proclaimed, And by the happy hollow of a tree Escaped the hunt. No port is free, no place That guard and most unusual vigilance Does not attend my taking. Whiles I may scape I will preserve myself, and am bethought To take the basest and most poorest shape That ever penury in contempt of man Brought near to beast. My face I’ll grime with filth, Blanket my loins, elf all my hairs in knots, And with presented nakedness outface The winds and persecutions of the sky. The country gives me proof and precedent Of Bedlam beggars who with roaring voices Strike in their numbed and mortified arms Pins, wooden pricks, nails, sprigs of rosemary, And with this horrible object from low farms, Poor pelting villages, sheep-cotes and mills Sometime with lunatic bans, sometime with prayers Enforce their charity. ‘Poor Tuelygod, Poor Tom.’ That’s something yet. Edgar I nothing am.
(didascalia)	Exit
(didascalia)	Enter King Lear, his Fool, and the First Gentleman
LEAR	’Tis strange that they should so depart from home And not send back my messenger.
(didascalia)	FIRST GENTLEMAN
LEAR	As I learned, The night before there was no purpose in them Of this remove.
KENT	(waking) Hail to thee, noble master.
LEAR	Ha! Mak’st thou this shame thy pastime?
KENT	No, my lord.
FOOL	Ha, ha, he wears cruel garters! Horses are tied by the heads, dogs and bears by th’ neck, monkeys by th’ loins, and men by th’ legs. When a man’s overlusty at legs, then he wears wooden nether-stocks.
LEAR	(to Kent) What’s he that hath so much thy place mistook To set thee here?
KENT	It is both he and she: Your son and daughter.
LEAR	By Jupiter, I swear no.
KENT	By Juno, I swear ay.
LEAR	They durst not do’t, They could not, would not do’t. ’Tis worse than murder, To do upon respect such violent outrage. Resolve me with all modest haste which way Thou mightst deserve or they impose this usage, Coming from us.
KENT	My lord, when at their home I did commend your highness’ letters to them, Ere I was risen from the place that showed My duty kneeling, came there a reeking post Stewed in his haste, half breathless, painting forth From Goneril, his mistress, salutations, Delivered letters spite of intermission, Which presently they read, on whose contents 210 They summoned up their meiny, straight took horse, Commanded me to follow and attend The leisure of their answer, gave me cold looks; And meeting here the other messenger, Whose welcome I perceived had poisoned mine— Being the very fellow which of late Displayed so saucily against your highness— Having more man than wit about me, drew. He raised the house with loud and coward cries. Your son and daughter found this trespass worth The shame which here it suffers.
FOOL	Winter’s not gone yet if the wild geese fly that way.
(didascalia)	Sings Fathers that wear rags
FOOL	Do make their children blind, But fathers that bear bags Shall see their children kind. Fortune, that arrant whore, Ne’er turns the key to th’ poor. But for all this thou shalt have as many dolours for thy daughters as thou canst tell in a year.
LEAR	O, how this mother swells up toward my heart! Histerica passio down, thou climbing sorrow; Thy element’s below.—Where is this daughter?
KENT	With the Earl, sir, here within.
LEAR	Follow me not; stay here.
(didascalia)	Exit
(didascalia)	FIRST GENTLEMAN (to Kent)
LEAR	Made you no more offence but what you speak of?
KENT	None. How chance the King comes with so small a number?
FOOL	An thou hadst been set i’th’ stocks for that question, thou’dst well deserved it.
KENT	Why, Fool?
FOOL	We’ll set thee to school to an ant, to teach thee there’s no labouring i’th’ winter. All that follow their noses are led by their eyes but blind men, and there’s not a nose among twenty but can smell him that’s stinking. Let go thy hold when a great wheel runs down a hill, lest it break thy neck with following; but the great one that goes upward, let him draw thee after. When a wise man gives thee better counsel, give me mine again. I would have none but knaves follow it, since a fool gives it.
(didascalia)	Sings
FOOL	That sir which serves and seeks for gain And follows but for form, Will pack when it begin to rain, And leave thee in the storm. But I will tarry, the fool will stay, And let the wise man fly. The knave turns fool that runs away, The fool no knave, pardie.
KENT	Where learned you this, Fool?
FOOL	Not i’th’ stocks, fool.
(didascalia)	Enter King Lear and the Duke of Gloucester
LEAR	Deny to speak with me? They are sick, they are weary, They have travelled all the night?—mere fetches, The images of revolt and flying off. Fetch me a better answer.
GLOUCESTER	My dear lord, You know the fiery quality of the Duke, How unremovable and fixed he is In his own course.
LEAR	Vengeance, plague, death, confusion! ‘Fiery’? What ‘quality’? Why, Gloucester, Gloucester, I’d speak with the Duke of Cornwall and his wife.
GLOUCESTER	Well, my good lord, I have informed them so.
LEAR	‘Informed them’? Dost thou understand me, man?
GLOUCESTER	Ay, my good lord.
LEAR	The King would speak with Cornwall; the dear father Would with his daughter speak, commands, tends service. Are they ‘informed’ of this? My breath and blood— ‘Fiery’? The ‘fiery’ Duke—tell the hot Duke that— No, but not yet. Maybe he is not well. Infirmity doth still neglect all office Whereto our health is bound. We are not ourselves When nature, being oppressed, commands the mind To suffer with the body. I’ll forbear, And am fallen out with my more headier will, To take the indisposed and sickly fit For the sound man.—Death on my state, wherefore Should he sit here? This act persuades me That this remotion of the Duke and her Is practice only. Give me my servant forth. Go tell the Duke and’s wife I’d speak with them, Now, presently. Bid them come forth and hear me, Or at their chamber door I’ll beat the drum Till it cry sleep to death.
GLOUCESTER	I would have all well betwixt you.
(didascalia)	Exit
LEAR	O me, my heart! My rising heart! But down.
FOOL	Cry to it, nuncle, as the cockney did to the eels when she put ‘em i’th’ paste alive. She knapped ‘em o’th’ coxcombs with a stick, and cried ‘Down, wantons, down!’ ’Twas her brother that, in pure kindness to his horse, buttered his hay.
(didascalia)	Enter the Duke of Cornwall, Regan, the Duke of Gloucester, and servants
LEAR	Good morrow to you both.
CORNWALL	Hail to your grace. Kent here set at liberty
REGAN	I am glad to see your highness.
LEAR	Regan, I think you are. I know what reason I have to think so. If thou shouldst not be glad I would divorce me from thy mother’s shrine, Sepulchring an adultress. (To Kent) O, are you free?
(didascalia)	Some other time for that. Exit Kent
LEAR	Beloved Regan, Thy sister’s naught. O, Regan, she hath tied Sharp-toothed unkindness like a vulture here. I can scarce speak to thee. Thou’lt not believe With how depraved a quality-O, Regan!
REGAN	I pray you, sir, take patience. I have hope You less know how to value her desert Than she to scant her duty.
LEAR	Say, how is that?
REGAN	I cannot think my sister in the least Would fail her obligation. If, sir, perchance She have restrained the riots of your followers, ’Tis on such ground and to such wholesome end As clears her from all blame.
LEAR	My curses on her.
REGAN	O sir, you are old. Nature in you stands on the very verge Of his confine. You should be ruled and led By some discretion that discerns your state Better than you yourself. Therefore I pray you That to our sister you do make return; Say you have wronged her.
LEAR	Ask her forgiveness? Do you but mark how this becomes the house?
(didascalia)	Kneehng ‘Dear daughter, I confess that I am old.
LEAR	Age is unnecessary. On my knees I beg That you’ll vouchsafe me raiment, bed, and food.’
REGAN	Good sir, no more. These are unsightly tricks. Return you to my sister.
(didascalia)	LEAR rising
REGAN	Never, Regan. She hath abated me of half my train, Looked black upon me, struck me with her tongue Most serpent-like upon the very heart. All the stored vengeances of heaven fall On her ingrateful top! Strike her young bones, You taking airs, with lameness!
CORNWALL	Fie, sir, fie.
LEAR	You nimble lightnings, dart your blinding flames Into her scornful eyes. Infect her beauty, You fen-sucked fogs drawn by the pow’rful sun To fall and blister.
REGAN	O, the blest gods! So will you wish on me when the rash mood is on.
LEAR	No, Regan. Thou shalt never have my curse. Thy tender-hafted nature shall not give Thee o‘er to harshness. Her eyes are fierce, but thine Do comfort and not burn. ’Tis not in thee To grudge my pleasures, to cut off my train, To bandy hasty words, to scant my sizes, And, in conclusion, to oppose the bolt Against my coming in. Thou better know‘st The offices of nature, bond of childhood, Effects of courtesy, dues of gratitude. Thy half o’th’ kingdom hast thou not forgot, Wherein I thee endowed.
REGAN	Good sir, to th’ purpose.
LEAR	Who put my man i’th’ stocks?
(didascalia)	Tucket within
CORNWALL	What trumpet’s that?
(didascalia)	Enter Oswald the steward
REGAN	I know’t, my sister’s. This approves her letter That she would soon be here. (To Oswald) Is your lady come?
LEAR	This is a slave whose easy-borrowed pride Dwells in the sickly grace of her a follows. (To Oswald) Out, varlet, from my sight!
CORNWALL	What means your grace?
(didascalia)	Enter Goneril
LEAR	Who stocked my servant? Regan, I have good hope Thou didst not know on’t. Who comes here? O heavens, If you do love old men, if your sweet sway Allow obedience, if you yourselves are old, Make it your cause! Send down and take my part. (To Goneril) Art not ashamed to look upon this beard? O Regan, will you take her by the hand?
GONERIL	Why not by th’ hand, sir? How have I offended? All’s not offence that indiscretion finds And dotage terms so.
LEAR	O sides, you are too tough! Will you yet hold?—How came my man i’th’ stocks?
CORNWALL	I set him there, sir; but his own disorders Deserved much less advancement.
LEAR	You? Did you?
REGAN	I pray you, father, being weak, seem so. If till the expiration of your month You will return and sojourn with my sister, Dismissing half your train, come then to me. I am now from home, and out of that provision Which shall be needful for your entertainment.
LEAR	Return to her, and fifty men dismissed? No, rather I abjure all roofs, and choose To be a comrade with the wolf and owl, To wage against the enmity o’th’ air Necessity’s sharp pinch. Return with her? Why, the hot-blooded France, that dowerless took Our youngest born—I could as well be brought To knee his throne and, squire-like, pension beg To keep base life afoot. Return with her? Persuade me rather to be slave and sumpter To this detested groom.
GONERIL	At your choice, sir.
LEAR	I prithee, daughter, do not make me mad. I will not trouble thee, my child. Farewell. We’ll no more meet, no more see one another. But yet thou art my flesh, my blood, my daughter— Or rather a disease that’s in my flesh, Which I must needs call mine. Thou art a boil, A plague-sore or embossed carbuncle In my corrupted blood. But I’ll not chide thee. Let shame come when it will, I do not call it. I do not bid the thunder-bearer shoot, Nor tell tales of thee to high-judging Jove. Mend when thou canst; be better at thy leisure. I can be patient, I can stay with Regan, I and my hundred knights.
REGAN	Not altogether so. I looked not for you yet, nor am provided For your fit welcome. Give ear, sir, to my sister; For those that mingle reason with your passion Must be content to think you old, and so— But she knows what she does.
LEAR	Is this well spoken?
REGAN	I dare avouch it, sir. What, fifty followers? Is it not well? What should you need of more, Yea, or so many, sith that both charge and danger Speak ‘gainst so great a number? How in one house Should many people under two commands Hold amity? ’Tis hard, almost impossible.
GONERIL	Why might not you, my lord, receive attendance From those that she calls servants, or from mine?
REGAN	Why not, my lord? If then they chanced to slack ye, We could control them. If you will come to me— For now I spy a danger—I entreat you To bring but five-and-twenty; to no more Will I give place or notice.
LEAR	I gave you all.
REGAN	And in good time you gave it.
LEAR	Made you my guardians, my depositaries, But kept a reservation to be followed With such a number. What, must I come to you With five-and-twenty? Regan, said you so?
REGAN	And speak’t again, my lord. No more with me.
LEAR	Those wicked creatures yet do look well favoured When others are more wicked. Not being the worst Stands in some rank of praise. (To Goneril) I’ll go with thee. Thy fifty yet doth double five-and-twenty, And thou art twice her love.
GONERIL	Hear me, my lord. What need you five-and-twenty, ten, or five, To follow in a house where twice so many Have a command to tend you?
REGAN	What need one?
LEAR	O, reason not the need! Our basest beggars Are in the poorest thing superfluous. Allow not nature more than nature needs, Man’s life is cheap as beast’s. Thou art a lady. If only to go warm were gorgeous, Why, nature needs not what thou, gorgeous, wear’st, Which scarcely keeps thee warm. But for true need— You heavens, give me that patience, patience I need. You see me here, you gods, a poor old man, As full of grief as age, wretched in both. If it be you that stirs these daughters’ hearts Against their father, fool me not so much To bear it tamely. Touch me with noble anger, And let not women’s weapons, water-drops, Stain my man’s cheeks. No, you unnatural hags, I will have such revenges on you both That all the world shall—I will do such things— What they are, yet I know not; but they shall be The terrors of the earth. You think I’ll weep. No, I’ll not weep. I have full cause of weeping,
(didascalia)	Storm and tempest
LEAR	But this heart shall break into a hundred thousand flaws Or ere I’ll weep.—O Fool, I shall go mad!
(didascalia)	Exeunt Lear, Fool, Gentleman, and Gloucester
CORNWALL	Let us withdraw. ’Twill be a storm.
REGAN	This house is little. The old man and ’s people Cannot be well bestowed.
GONERIL	’Tis his own blame; Hath put himself from rest, and must needs taste his folly.
REGAN	For his particular I’ll receive him gladly, But not one follower.
GONERIL	So am I purposed. Where is my lord of Gloucester?
CORNWALL	Followed the old man forth.
(didascalia)	Enter the Duke of Gloucester
CORNWALL	He is returned.
GLOUCESTER	The King is in high rage.
CORNWALL	Whither is he going?
GLOUCESTER	He calls to horse, but will I know not whither.
CORNWALL	’Tis best to give him way. He leads himself.
GONERIL	(to Gloucester) My lord, entreat him by no means to stay.
GLOUCESTER	Alack, the night comes on, and the high winds Do sorely ruffle. For many miles about There’s scarce a bush.
REGAN	O sir, to wilful men The injuries that they themselves procure Must be their schoolmasters. Shut up your doors. He is attended with a desperate train, And what they may incense him to, being apt To have his ear abused, wisdom bids fear.
CORNWALL	Shut up your doors, my lord. ‘Tis a wild night. My Regan counsels well. Come out o’th’ storm. Exeunt

Speaker	Line
(didascalia)	Storm still. Enter the Earl of Kent disguised and the First Gentleman, severally
KENT	Who’s there, besides foul weather?
(didascalia)	FIRST GENTLEMAN
KENT	One minded like the weather, Most unquietly.
KENT	I know you. Where’s the King?
(didascalia)	FIRST GENTLEMAN
KENT	Contending with the fretful elements; Bids the wind blow the earth into the sea Or swell the curled waters ’bove the main, That things might change or cease.
KENT	But who is with him?
(didascalia)	FIRST GENTLEMAN
KENT	None but the Fool, who labours to outjest His heart-struck injuries.
KENT	Sir, I do know you, And dare upon the warrant of my note Commend a dear thing to you. There is division, Although as yet the face of it is covered With mutual cunning, ’twixt Albany and Cornwall, Who have—as who have not that their great stars Throned and set high—servants, who seem no less, Which are to France the spies and speculations Intelligent of our state. What hath been seen, Either in snuffs and packings of the Dukes, Or the hard rein which both of them hath borne Against the old kind King; or something deeper, Whereof perchance these are but furnishings—
(didascalia)	FIRST GENTLEMAN
KENT	I will talk further with you.
KENT	No, do not. For confirmation that I am much more Than my out-wall, open this purse, and take What it contains. If you shall see Cordelia— As fear not but you shall—show her this ring And she will tell you who that fellow is That yet you do not know. Fie on this storm! I will go seek the King.
(didascalia)	FIRST GENTLEMAN
KENT	Give me your hand. Have you no more to say?
KENT	Few words, but to effect more than all yet: That when we have found the King—in which your pain That way, I’ll this—he that first lights on him Holla the other.
(didascalia)	Exeunt severally

Speaker	Line
(didascalia)	Storm still. Enter King Lear and his Fool
LEAR	Blow, winds, and crack your cheeks! Rage, blow, You cataracts and hurricanoes, spout Till you have drenched our steeples, drowned the cocks! You sulph‘rous and thought-executing fires, Vaunt-couriers of oak-cleaving thunderbolts, Singe my white head; and thou all-shaking thunder, Strike flat the thick rotundity o’th’ world, Crack nature’s moulds, all germens spill at once That makes ingrateful man.
FOOL	O nuncle, court holy water in a dry house is better than this rain-water out o’ door. Good nuncle, in, ask thy daughters blessing. Here’s a night pities neither wise men nor fools.
LEAR	Rumble thy bellyful; spit, fire; spout, rain. Nor rain, wind, thunder, fire are my daughters. I tax not you, you elements, with unkindness. I never gave you kingdom, called you children. You owe me no subscription. Then let fall Your horrible pleasure. Here I stand your slave, A poor, infirm, weak and despised old man, But yet I call you servile ministers, That will with two pernicious daughters join Your high-engendered battles ‘gainst a head So old and white as this. O, ho, ’tis foul!
FOOL	He that has a house to put ’s head in has a good head-piece.
(didascalia)	Sings
FOOL	The codpiece that will house Before the head has any, The head and he shall louse, So beggars marry many. The man that makes his toe What he his heart should make Shall of a corn cry woe, And turn his sleep to wake— for there was never yet fair woman but she made mouths in a glass.
(didascalia)	Enter the Earl of Kent disguised
LEAR	No, I will be the pattern of all patience. I will say nothing.
KENT	Who’s there?
FOOL	Marry, here’s grace and a codpiece—that’s a wise man and a fool.
KENT	(to Lear) Alas, sir, are you here? Things that love night Love not such nights as these. The wrathful skies Gallow the very wanderers of the dark And make them keep their caves. Since I was man Such sheets of fire, such bursts of horrid thunder, Such groans of roaring wind and rain I never Remember to have heard. Man’s nature cannot carry Th’affliction nor the fear.
LEAR	Let the great gods, That keep this dreadful pother o’er our heads, Find out their enemies now. Tremble, thou wretch That hast within thee undivulgèd crimes Unwhipped of justice; hide thee, thou bloody hand, Thou perjured and thou simular of virtue That art incestuous; caitiff, to pieces shake, That under covert and convenient seeming Has practised on man’s life; close pent-up guilts, Rive your concealing continents and cry These dreadful summoners grace. I am a man More sinned against than sinning.
KENT	Alack, bare-headed? Gracious my lord, hard by here is a hovel. Some friendship will it lend you ‘gainst the tempest. Repose you there while I to this hard house— More harder than the stones whereof ’tis raised, Which even but now, demanding after you, Denied me to come in—return and force Their scanted courtesy.
LEAR	My wits begin to turn. (To Fool) Come on, my boy. How dost, my boy? Art cold? I am cold myself.—Where is this straw, my fellow? The art of our necessities is strange, And can make vile things precious. Come, your hovel.— Poor fool and knave, I have one part in my heart That’s sorry yet for thee.
(didascalia)	FOOL Sings
LEAR	He that has and a little tiny wit, With heigh-ho, the wind and the rain, Must make content with his fortunes fit, Though the rain it raineth every day.
LEAR	True, boy. (To Kent) Come, bring us to this hovel.
(didascalia)	Exeunt Lear and Kent
FOOL	This is a brave night to cool a courtesan. I’ll speak a prophecy ere I go: When priests are more in word than matter; When brewers mar their malt with water; When nobles are their tailors’ tutors, No heretics burned, but wenches’ suitors, Then shall the realm of Albion Come to great confusion. When every case in law is right; No squire in debt nor no poor knight; When slanders do not live in tongues, Nor cutpurses come not to throngs; When usurers tell their gold i‘th’ field, And bawds and whores do churches build, Then comes the time, who lives to see’t, That going shall be used with feet. This prophecy Merlin shall make; for I live before his time.
(didascalia)	Exit

Speaker	Line
(didascalia)	Enter the Duke of Gloucester and Edmond
GLOUCESTER	Alack, alack, Edmond, I like not this unnatural dealing. When I desired their leave that I might pity him, they took from me the use of mine own house, charged me on pain of perpetual displeasure neither to speak of him, entreat for him, or any way sustain him.
EDMOND	Most savage and unnatural!
GLOUCESTER	Go to, say you nothing. There is division between the Dukes, and a worse matter than that. I have received a letter this night—‘tis dangerous to be spoken—I have locked the letter in my closet. These injuries the King now bears will be revenged home. There is part of a power already footed. We must incline to the King. I will look him and privily relieve him. Go you and maintain talk with the Duke, that my charity be not of him perceived. If he ask for me, I am ill and gone to bed. If I die for’t—as no less is threatened me—the King my old master must be relieved. There is strange things toward, Edmond; pray you be careful. Exit
EDMOND	This courtesy, forbid thee, shall the Duke Instantly know, and of that letter too. This seems a fair deserving, and must draw me That which my father loses: no less than all. The younger rises when the old doth fall. Exit

Speaker	Line
(didascalia)	Enter King Lear, the Earl of Kent disguised, and Lear’s Fool
KENT	Here is the place, my lord. Good my lord, enter. The tyranny of the open night’s too rough For nature to endure.
(didascalia)	Storm still
LEAR	Let me alone.
KENT	Good my lord, enter here.
LEAR	Wilt break my heart?
KENT	I had rather break mine own. Good my lord, enter.
LEAR	Thou think‘st ’tis much that this contentious storm Invades us to the skin. So ‘tis to thee; But where the greater malady is fixed, The lesser is scarce felt. Thou’dst shun a bear, But if thy flight lay toward the roaring sea Thou‘dst meet the bear i’th’ mouth. When the mind’s free, The body’s delicate. This tempest in my mind Doth from my senses take all feeling else Save what beats there: filial ingratitude. Is it not as this mouth should tear this hand For lifting food to’t? But I will punish home. No, I will weep no more.—In such a night To shut me out? Pour on, I will endure. In such a night as this! O Regan, Goneril, Your old kind father, whose frank heart gave all— O, that way madness lies. Let me shun that. No more of that.
KENT	Good my lord, enter here.
LEAR	Prithee, go in thyself. Seek thine own ease. This tempest will not give me leave to ponder On things would hurt me more; but I’ll go in.
(didascalia)	(To Fool) In, boy; go first. Kneeling You houseless
LEAR	poverty— Nay, get thee in. I’ll pray, and then I’ll sleep.
(didascalia)	Exit Fool
LEAR	Poor naked wretches, wheresoe‘er you are, That bide the pelting of this pitiless storm, How shall your houseless heads and unfed sides, Your looped and windowed raggedness, defend you From seasons such as these? O, I have ta’en Too little care of this. Take physic, pomp, Expose thyself to feel what wretches feel, That thou mayst shake the superflux to them And show the heavens more just.
(didascalia)	Enter Lear’s Fool, and Edgar as a Bedlam beggar in the hovel
EDGAR	Fathom and half! Fathom and half! Poor Tom!
FOOL	Come not in here, nuncle. Here’s a spirit. Help me, help me!
KENT	Give me thy hand. Who’s there? FOOL A spirit, a spirit. He says his name’s Poor Tom.
KENT	What art thou that dost grumble there i’th’ straw? Come forth.
(didascalia)	Edgar comes forth
EDGAR	Away, the foul fiend follows me. Thorough the sharp hawthorn blow the winds. Hm! Go to thy cold bed and warm thee.
LEAR	Didst thou give all to thy two daughters, And art thou come to this?
EDGAR	Who gives anything to Poor Tom, whom the foul fiend hath led through fire and through flame, through ford and whirlpool, o’er bog and quagmire; that hath laid knives under his pillow and halters in his pew, set ratsbane by his porridge, made him proud of heart to ride on a bay trotting-horse over four-inched bridges, to course his own shadow for a traitor. Bless thy five wits, Tom’s a-cold! O, do, de, do, de, do de. Bless thee from whirlwinds, star-blasting, and taking. Do Poor Tom some charity, whom the foul fiend vexes. There could I have him now, and there, and there again, and there.
(didascalia)	Storm still
LEAR	Has his daughters brought him to this pass? (To Edgar) Couldst thou save nothing? Wouldst thou give ’em all?
FOOL	Nay, he reserved a blanket, else we had been all shamed.
LEAR	(to Edgar) Now all the plagues that in the pendulous air Hang fated o’er men’s faults light on thy daughters!
KENT	He hath no daughters, sir.
LEAR	Death, traitor! Nothing could have subdued nature To such a lowness but his unkind daughters. (To Edgar) Is it the fashion that discarded fathers Should have thus little mercy on their flesh? Judicious punishment: ’twas this flesh begot Those pelican daughters.
EDGAR	Pillicock sat on Pillicock Hill; alow, alow, loo, loo.
FOOL	This cold night will turn us all to fools and madmen.
EDGAR	Take heed o’th’ foul fiend; obey thy parents; keep thy words’ justice; swear not; commit not with man’s sworn spouse; set not thy sweet heart on proud array. Tom’s a-cold.
LEAR	What hast thou been?
EDGAR	A servingman, proud in heart and mind, that curled my hair, wore gloves in my cap, served the lust of my mistress’ heart, and did the act of darkness with her; swore as many oaths as I spake words, and broke them in the sweet face of heaven; one that slept in the contriving of lust, and waked to do it. Wine loved I deeply, dice dearly, and in woman out-paramoured the Turk. False of heart, light of ear, bloody of hand; hog in sloth, fox in stealth, wolf in greediness, dog in madness, lion in prey. Let not the creaking of shoes nor the rustling of silks betray thy poor heart to woman. Keep thy foot out of brothels, thy hand out of plackets, thy pen from lenders’ books, and defy the foul fiend. Still through the hawthorn blows the cold wind, says suum, mun, nonny. Dauphin, my boy! Boy, cessez; let him trot by.
(didascalia)	Storm still
LEAR	Thou wert better in a grave than to answer with thy uncovered body this extremity of the skies. Is man no. more than this? Consider him well. Thou owest the worm no silk, the beast no hide, the sheep no wool, the cat no perfume. Ha, here’s three on ’s are sophisticated; thou art the thing itself. Unaccommodated man is no more but such a poor, bare, forked animal as thou art. Off, off, you lendings! Come, unbutton here.
(didascalia)	Enter the Duke of Gloucester with a torch
FOOL	Prithee, nuncle, be contented. ’Tis a naughty night to swim in. Now a little fire in a wild field were like an old lecher’s heart—a small spark, all the rest on ’s body cold. Look, here comes a walking fire.
(didascalia)	EDGAR This is the foul fiend Flibbertigibbet. He begins at curfew and walks till the first cock. He gives the web and the pin, squints the eye, and makes the harelip; mildews the white wheat, and hurts the poor creature of earth. Sings
FOOL	Swithin footed thrice the wold, A met the night mare and her nine foal, Bid her alight And her troth plight, And aroint thee, witch, aroint thee!
KENT	(to Lear) How fares your grace?
LEAR	What’s he?
KENT	(to Gloucester) Who’s there? What is’t you seek?
GLOUCESTER	What are you there? Your names?
EDGAR	Poor Tom, that eats the swimming frog, the toad, the tadpole, the wall-newt and the water; that in the fury of his heart, when the foul fiend rages, eats cowdung for salads, swallows the old rat and the ditch-dog, drinks the green mantle of the standing pool; who is whipped from tithing to tithing, and stocked, punished, and imprisoned; who hath had three suits to his back, six shirts to his body, Horse to ride, and weapon to wear; But mice and rats and such small deer Have been Tom’s food for seven long year. Beware my follower. Peace, Smulkin; peace, thou fiend!
GLOUCESTER	(to Lear) What, hath your grace no better company?
EDGAR	The Prince of Darkness is a gentleman. Modo he’s called, and Mahu.
GLOUCESTER	(to Lear) Our flesh and blood, my lord, is grown so vile That it doth hate what gets it.
EDGAR	Poor Tom’s a-cold.
GLOUCESTER	(to Lear) Go in with me. My duty cannot suffer T’obey in all your daughters’ hard commands. Though their injunction be to bar my doors And let this tyrannous night take hold upon you, Yet have I ventured to come seek you out And bring you where both fire and food is ready.
LEAR	First let me talk with this philosopher. (To Edgar) What is the cause of thunder?
KENT	Good my lord, take his offer; go into th’ house.
LEAR	I’ll talk a word with this same learned Theban. (To Edgar) What is your study?
EDGAR	How to prevent the fiend, and to kill vermin.
LEAR	Let me ask you one word in private. They converse apart
KENT	(to Gloucester) Importune him once more to go, my lord. His wits begin t’unsettle.
GLOUCESTER	Canst thou blame him?
(didascalia)	Storm still
GLOUCESTER	His daughters seek his death. Ah, that good Kent, He said it would be thus, poor banished man! Thou sayst the King grows mad; I’ll tell thee, friend, I am almost mad myself. I had a son, Now outlawed from my blood; a sought my life But lately, very late. I loved him, friend; No father his son dearer. True to tell thee, The grief hath crazed my wits. What a night’s this! (To Lear) I do beseech your grace—
LEAR	O, cry you mercy, sir! (To Edgar) Noble philosopher, your company.
EDGAR	Tom’s a-cold.
GLOUCESTER	In, fellow, there in t’hovel; keep thee warm.
LEAR	Come, let’s in all.
KENT	This way, my lord.
LEAR	With him! I will keep still with my philosopher.
KENT	(to Gloucester) Good my lord, soothe him; let him take the fellow.
GLOUCESTER	Take him you on.
(didascalia)	KENT to Edgar
GLOUCESTER	Sirrah, come on. Go along with us.
LEAR	(to Edgar) Come, good Athenian.
GLOUCESTER	No words, no words. Hush.
EDGAR	Child Roland to the dark tower came, His word was still ‘Fie, fo, and fum; I smell the blood of a British man.’
(didascalia)	Exeunt

Speaker	Line
(didascalia)	Enter the Duke of Cornwall and Edmond
CORNWALL	I will have my revenge ere I depart his house.
EDMOND	How, my lord, I may be censured, that nature thus gives way to loyalty, something fears me to think of.
CORNWALL	I now perceive it was not altogether your brother’s evil disposition made him seek his death, but a provoking merit set a-work by a reprovable badness in himself. 8
EDMOND	How malicious is my fortune, that I must repent to be just! This is the letter which he spoke of, which approves him an intelligent party to the advantages of France. O heavens, that this treason were not, or not I the detector!
CORNWALL	Go with me to the Duchess.
EDMOND	If the matter of this paper be certain, you have mighty business in hand.
CORNWALL	True or false, it hath made thee Earl of Gloucester. Seek out where thy father is, that he may be ready for our apprehension.
(didascalia)	EDMOND aside If I find him comforting the King, it will stuff his suspicion more fully. (To Cornwall) I will persever in my course of loyalty, though the conflict be sore between that and my blood.
CORNWALL	I will lay trust upon thee, and thou shalt find a dearer father in my love. Exeunt

Speaker	Line
(didascalia)	Enter the Earl of Kent disguised, and the Duke of Gloucester
GLOUCESTER	Here is better than the open air; take it thankfully. I will piece out the comfort with what addition I can. I will not be long from you.
KENT	All the power of his wits have given way to his impatience; the gods reward your kindness!
(didascalia)	Exit Gloucester
(didascalia)	Enter King Lear, Edgar as a Bedlam beggar, and Lear’s Fool
EDGAR	Frateretto calls me, and tells me Nero is an angler in the lake of darkness. Pray, innocent, and beware the foul fiend.
FOOL	Prithee, nuncle, tell me whether a madman be a gentleman or a yeoman.
LEAR	A king, a king!
FOOL	No, he’s a yeoman that has a gentleman to his son; for he’s a mad yeoman that sees his son a gentleman before him.
LEAR	To have a thousand with red burning spits Come hissing in upon ’em!
EDGAR	Bless thy five wits.
KENT	(to Lear) O, pity! Sir, where is the patience now That you so oft have boasted to retain?
EDGAR	(aside) My tears begin to take his part so much They mar my counterfeiting.
LEAR	The little dogs and all, Tray, Blanch, and Sweetheart—see, they bark at me.
EDGAR	Tom will throw his head at them.—Avaunt, you curs! Be thy mouth or black or white, Tooth that poisons if it bite, Mastiff, greyhound, mongrel grim, Hound or spaniel, brach or him, Bobtail tyke or trundle-tail, Tom will make him weep and wail; For with throwing thus my head, Dogs leapt the hatch, and all are fled. Do, de, de, de. Sese! Come, march to wakes and fairs And market towns. Poor Tom, thy horn is dry.
LEAR	Then let them anatomize Regan; see what breeds about her heart. Is there any cause in nature that makes these hard-hearts? (To Edgar) You, sir, I entertain for one of my hundred, only I do not like the fashion of your garments. You will say they are Persian; but let them be changed.
KENT	Now, good my lord, lie here and rest a while.
LEAR	Make no noise, make no noise. Draw the curtains. So, so. We’ll go to supper i’th’ morning.
(didascalia)	He steps
FOOL	And I’ll go to bed at noon.
(didascalia)	Enter the Duke of Gloucester
GLOUCESTER	(to Kent) Come hither, friend. Where is the King my master?
KENT	Here, sir, but trouble him not; his wits are gone.
GLOUCESTER	Good friend, I prithee take him in thy arms. I have o’erheard a plot of death upon him. There is a litter ready. Lay him in’t And drive toward Dover, friend, where thou shalt meet Both welcome and protection. Take up thy master. If thou shouldst dally half an hour, his life, With thine and all that offer to defend him, Stand in assured loss. Take up, take up, And follow me, that will to some provision Give thee quick conduct. Come, come away.
(didascalia)	Exeunt, Kent carrying Lear in his arms

Speaker	Line
(didascalia)	Enter the Duke of Cornwall, Regan, Goneril, Edmond the bastard, and Servants
CORNWALL	(to Goneril) Post speedily to my lord your husband. Show him this letter. The army of France is landed. (To Servants) Seek out the traitor Gloucester.
(didascalia)	Exeunt some
REGAN	Hang him instantly.
GONERIL	Pluck out his eyes.
CORNWALL	Leave him to my displeasure. Edmond, keep you our sister company. The revenges we are bound to take upon your traitorous father are not fit for your beholding. Advise the Duke where you are going, to a most festinate preparation; we are bound to the like. Our posts shall be swift and intelligent betwixt us. (To Goneril) Farewell, dear sister. (To Edmond) Farewell, my lord of Gloucester.
(didascalia)	Enter Oswald the steward
CORNWALL	How now, where’s the King?
OSWALD	My lord of Gloucester hath conveyed him hence. Some five- or six-and-thirty of his knights, Hot questrists after him, met him at gate, Who, with some other of the lord’s dependants, Are gone with him toward Dover, where they boast To have well-armèd friends.
CORNWALL	Get horses for your mistress.
(didascalia)	Exit Oswald
GONERIL	Farewell, sweet lord, and sister.
CORNWALL	Edmond, farewell.
(didascalia)	Exeunt Goneril and Edmond
CORNWALL	(To Servants) Go seek the traitor Gloucester. Pinion him like a thief; bring him before us.
(didascalia)	Exeunt other Servants
CORNWALL	Though well we may not pass upon his life Without the form of justice, yet our power Shall do a curtsy to our wrath, which men May blame but not control.
(didascalia)	Enter the Duke of Gloucester and Servants
CORNWALL	Who’s there—the traitor?
REGAN	Ingrateful fox, ’tis he.
CORNWALL	(to Servants) Bind fast his corky arms.
GLOUCESTER	What means your graces? Good my friends, consider You are my guests. Do me no foul play, friends.
CORNWALL	(to Servants) Bind him, I say.
REGAN	Hard, hard! O filthy traitor!
GLOUCESTER	Unmerciful lady as you are, I’m none.
CORNWALL	(to Servants) To this chair bind him. (To Gloucester) Villain, thou shalt find— Regan plucks Gloucester’s beard
GLOUCESTER	By the kind gods, ’tis most ignobly done, To pluck me by the beard.
REGAN	So white, and such a traitor?
GLOUCESTER	Naughty lady, These hairs which thou dost ravish from my chin Will quicken and accuse thee. I am your host. With robbers’ hands my hospitable favours You should not ruffle thus. What will you do?
CORNWALL	Come, sir, what letters had you late from France?
REGAN	Be simple-answered, for we know the truth.
CORNWALL	And what confederacy have you with the traitors Late footed in the kingdom?
REGAN	To whose hands You have sent the lunatic King. Speak.
GLOUCESTER	I have a letter guessingly set down, Which came from one that’s of a neutral heart, And not from one opposed.
CORNWALL	Cunning.
REGAN	And false.
CORNWALL	Where hast thou sent the King?
GLOUCESTER	To Dover.
REGAN	Wherefore to Dover? Wast thou not charged at peril—
CORNWALL	Wherefore to Dover?—Let him answer that.
GLOUCESTER	I am tied to th’ stake, and I must stand the course.
REGAN	Wherefore to Dover?
GLOUCESTER	Because I would not see thy cruel nails Pluck out his poor old eyes, nor thy fierce sister In his anointed flesh stick boarish fangs. The sea, with such a storm as his bare head In hell-black night endured, would have buoyed up And quenched the stellèd fires. Yet, poor old heart, he holp the heavens to rain. If wolves had at thy gate howled that stern time, Thou shouldst have said ‘Good porter, turn the key; All cruels I’ll subscribe.’ But I shall see The winged vengeance overtake such children.
CORNWALL	See’t shalt thou never.—Fettows, hold the chair.— Upon these eyes of thine I’ll set my foot.
GLOUCESTER	He that will think to live till he be old Give me some help!—O cruel! O you gods!
(didascalia)	Cornwall pulls out one of Gloucester’s eyes and stamps on it
REGAN	(to Cornwall) One side will mock another; th’other, too.
CORNWALL	(to Gloucester) If you see vengeance—
SERVANT	Hold your hand, my lord. I have served you ever since I was a child, But better service have I never done you Than now to bid you hold.
REGAN	How now, you dog!
SERVANT	If you did wear a beard upon your chin
(didascalia)	I’d shake it on this quarrel. To Cornwall What do
SERVANT	you mean?
CORNWALL	My villein!
SERVANT	Nay then, come on, and take the chance of anger. They draw and fight
REGAN	(to another Servant) Give me thy sword. A peasant stand up thus!
(didascalia)	She takes a sword and runs at him behind
SERVANT	(to Gloucester) O, I am slain. My lord, you have one eye left To see some mischief on him.
(didascalia)	Regan stabs him again
SERVANT	O! He dies
CORNWALL	Lest it see more, prevent it. Out, vile jelly!
(didascalia)	He pulls out Gloucester’s other eye
CORNWALL	Where is thy lustre now?
GLOUCESTER	All dark and comfortless. Where’s my son Edmond? Edmond, enkindle all the sparks of nature To quite this horrid act.
REGAN	Out, treacherous villain! Thou call’st on him that hates thee. It was he That made the overture of thy treasons to us, Who is too good to pity thee.
GLOUCESTER	O, my follies! Then Edgar was abused. Kind gods, forgive me that, and prosper him!
REGAN	(to Servants) Go thrust him out at gates, and let him smell His way to Dover.
(didascalia)	Exit one or more with Gloucester
REGAN	How is’t, my lord? How look you?
CORNWALL	I have received a hurt. Follow me, lady. (To Servants) Turn out that eyeless villain. Throw this slave Upon the dunghill. Regan, I bleed apace. Untimely comes this hurt. Give me your arm.
(didascalia)	Exeunt with the body

Speaker	Line
(didascalia)	Enter Edgar as a Bedlam beggar
EDGAR	Yet better thus and known to be contemned Than still contemned and flattered. To be worst, The low’st and most dejected thing of fortune, Stands still in esperance, lives not in fear. The lamentable change is from the best; The worst returns to laughter. Welcome, then, Thou unsubstantial air that I embrace. The wretch that thou hast blown unto the worst Owes nothing to thy blasts.
(didascalia)	Enter the Duke of Gloucester led by an Old Man
EDGAR	But who comes here? My father, parti-eyed? World, world, O world! But that thy strange mutations make us hate thee, Life would not yield to age.
(didascalia)	Edgar stands aside
OLD MAN	(to Gloucester) O my good lord, I have been your tenant and your father’s tenant These fourscore years.
GLOUCESTER	Away, get thee away, good friend, be gone. Thy comforts can do me no good at all; Thee they may hurt.
OLD MAN	You cannot see your way.
GLOUCESTER	I have no way, and therefore want no eyes. I stumbled when I saw. Full oft ’tis seen Our means secure us, and our mere defects Prove our commodities. O dear son Edgar, The food of thy abused father’s wrath- Might I but live to see thee in my touch I’d say I had eyes again.
OLD MAN	How, now? Who’s there?
EDGAR	(aside) O gods! Who is’t can say ‘I am at the worst’? I am worse than e’er I was.
OLD MAN	(to Gloucester) ’Tis poor mad Tom.
EDGAR	(aside) And worse I may be yet. The worst is not So long as we can say ‘This is the worst.’
OLD MAN	(to Edgar) Fellow, where goest?
GLOUCESTER	Is it a beggarman?
OLD MAN	Madman and beggar too.
GLOUCESTER	A has some reason, else he could not beg. I’th’ last night’s storm I such a fellow saw, Which made me think a man a worm. My son Came then into my mind, and yet my mind Was then scarce friends with him. I have heard more since. As flies to wanton boys are we to th’ gods; They kill us for their sport.
EDGAR	(aside) How should this be? Bad is the trade that must play fool to sorrow, Ang’ring itself and others.
(didascalia)	He comes forward
EDGAR	Bless thee, master.
GLOUCESTER	Is that the naked fellow?
OLD MAN	Ay, my lord.
GLOUCESTER	Get thee away. If for my sake Thou wilt o‘ertake us hence a mile or twain I’th’ way toward Dover, do it for ancient love, And bring some covering for this naked soul, Which I’ll entreat to lead me.
OLD MAN	Alack, sir, he is mad.
GLOUCESTER	’Tis the time’s plague when madmen lead the blind. Do as I bid thee; or rather do thy pleasure. Above the rest, be gone.
OLD MAN	I’ll bring him the best ’parel that I have, so Come on’t what will. Exit
GLOUCESTER	Sirrah, naked fellow!
EDGAR	Poor Tom’s a-cold. (Aside) I cannot daub it further.
GLOUCESTER	Come hither, fellow.
EDGAR	(aside) And yet I must. (To Gloucester) Bless thy sweet eyes, they bleed.
GLOUCESTER	Know’st thou the way to Dover?
EDGAR	Both stile and gate, horseway and footpath. Poor Tom hath been scared out of his good wits. Bless thee, goodman’s son, from the foul fiend.
GLOUCESTER	Here, take this purse, thou whom the heavens’ plagues Have humbled to all strokes. That I am wretched Makes thee the happier. Heavens deal so still. Let the superfluous and lust-dieted man That slaves your ordinance, that will not see Because he does not feel, feel your power quickly. So distribution should undo excess, And each man have enough. Dost thou know Dover?
EDGAR	Ay, master.
GLOUCESTER	There is a cliff whose high and bending head Looks fearfully in the confined deep. Bring me but to the very brim of it And I’ll repair the misery thou dost bear With something rich about me. From that place I shall no leading need.
EDGAR	Give me thy arm. Poor Tom shall lead thee.
(didascalia)	Exit Edgar guiding Gloucester

Speaker	Line
(didascalia)	Enter Goneril and Edmond the bastard at one door and Oswald the steward at another
GONERIL	Welcome, my lord. I marvel our mild husband Not met us on the way. (To Oswald) Now, where’s your master?
OSWALD	Madam, within; but never man so changed. I told him of the army that was landed; He smiled at it. I told him you were coming; His answer was ‘The worse’. Of Gloucester’s treachery And of the loyal service of his son When I informed him, then he called me sot, And told me I had turned the wrong side out. What most he should dislike seems pleasant to him; What like, offensive.
GONERIL	(to Edmond) Then shall you go no further. It is the cowish terror of his spirit That dares not undertake. He’ll not feel wrongs Which tie him to an answer. Our wishes on the way May prove effects. Back, Edmond, to my brother. Hasten his musters and conduct his powers. I must change names at home, and give the distaff Into my husband’s hands. This trusty servant Shall pass between us. Ere long you are like to hear, If you dare venture in your own behalf, A mistress’s command. Wear this. Spare speech. Decline your head. This kiss, if it durst speak, Would stretch thy spirits up into the air.
(didascalia)	She kisses him
GONERIL	Conceive, and fare thee well.
EDMOND	Yours in the ranks of death.
GONERIL	My most dear Gloucester.
(didascalia)	Exit
GONERIL	Edmond O, the difference of man and man! To thee a woman’s services are due; My fool usurps my body.
OSWALD	Madam, here comes my lord.
(didascalia)	Enter the Duke of
OSWALD	Albany
GONERIL	I have been worth the whistling.
ALBANY	O Goneril, You are not worth the dust which the rude wind Blows in your face.
GONERIL	Milk-livered man, That bear’st a cheek for blows, a head for wrongs; Who hast not in thy brows an eye discerning Thine honour from thy suffering—
ALBANY	See thyself, devil. Proper deformity shows not in the fiend So horrid as in woman.
GONERIL	O vain fool!
(didascalia)	Enter a Messenger
MESSENGER	O my good lord, the Duke of Cornwall’s dead, Slain by his servant going to put out The other eye of Gloucester.
ALBANY	Gloucester’s eyes?
MESSENGER	A servant that he bred, thrilled with remorse, Opposed against the act, bending his sword To his great master, who thereat enraged Flew on him, and amongst them felled him dead, But not without that harmful stroke which since Hath plucked him after.
ALBANY	This shows you are above, You justicers, that these our nether crimes So speedily can venge. But O, poor Gloucester! Lost he his other eye?
MESSENGER	Both, both, my lord.—µ This letter, madam, craves a speedy answer. ’Tis from your sister.
GONERIL	(aside) One way I like this well; But being widow, and my Gloucester with her, May all the building in my fancy pluck Upon my hateful life. Another way The news is not so tart.—I’ll read and answer.
(didascalia)	Exit
(didascalia)	with Oswald
ALBANY	Where was his son when they did take his eyes?
MESSENGER	Come with my lady hither.
ALBANY	He is not here.
MESSENGER	No, my good lord; I met him back again.
ALBANY	Knows he the wickedness?
MESSENGER	Ay, my good lord; ’twas he informed against him, And quit the house on purpose that their punishment Might have the freer course.
ALBANY	Gloucester, I live To thank thee for the love thou showed‘st the King, And to revenge thine eyes.—Come hither, friend. Tell me what more thou know’st.
(didascalia)	Exeunt

Speaker	Line
(didascalia)	Enter with a drummer and colours, Queen Cordelia, Gentlemen, and soldiers
CORDELIA	Alack, ’tis he! Why, he was met even now, As mad as the vexed sea, singing aloud, Crowned with rank fumitor and furrow-weeds, With burdocks, hemlock, nettles, cuckoo-flowers, Darnel, and all the idle weeds that grow In our sustaining corn. A century send forth. Search every acre in the high-grown field, And bring him to our eye.
(didascalia)	Exit
(didascalia)	one or more
CORDELIA	What can man’s wisdom In the restoring his He that helps him take all my outward worth.
(didascalia)	FIRSTGENTLEMAN There is means, madam.
CORDELIA	Our foster-nurse of nature is repose, The which he lacks. That to provoke in him Are many simples operative, whose power Will close the eye of anguish.
CORDELIA	All blest secrets, All you unpublished virtues of the earth, Spring with my tears, be aidant and remediate In the good man’s distress!—Seek, seek for him, Lest his ungoverned rage dissolve the life That wants the means to lead it.
(didascalia)	Enter
CORDELIA	a Messenger
MESSENGER	News, madam. The British powers are marching hitherward.
CORDELIA	’Tis known before; our preparation stands In expectation of them.—O dear father, It is thy business that I go about; Therefore great France My mourning and importuned tears hath pitied. No blown ambition doth our arms incite, But love, dear love, and our aged father’s right. Soon may I hear and see him!
(didascalia)	Exeunt

Speaker	Line
(didascalia)	Enter Regan and Oswald the steward
REGAN	But are my brother’s powers set forth?
OSWALD	Ay, madam.
REGAN	Himself in person there?
OSWALD	Madam, with much ado. Your sister is the better soldier.
REGAN	Lord Edmond spake not with your lord at home?
OSWALD	No, madam.
REGAN	What might import my sister’s letters to him?
OSWALD	I know not, lady.
REGAN	Faith, he is posted hence on serious matter. It was great ignorance, Gloucester’s eyes being out, To let him live. Where he arrives he moves All hearts against us. Edmond, I think, is gone, In pity of his misery, to dispatch His ‘nighted life, moreover to descry The strength o’th’ enemy.
OSWALD	I must needs after, madam, with my letter.
REGAN	Our troops set forth tomorrow. Stay with us. The ways are dangerous.
OSWALD	I may not, madam. My lady charged my duty in this business.
REGAN	Why should she write to Edmond? Might not you Transport her purposes by word? Belike— Some things—I know not what. I’ll love thee much: Let me unseal the letter.
OSWALD	Madam, I had rather—
REGAN	I know your lady does not love her husband. I am sure of that, and at her late being here She gave strange oeillades and most speaking looks To noble Edmond. I know you are of her bosom.
OSWALD	I, madam?
REGAN	I speak in understanding. Y’are, I know’t. Therefore I do advise you take this note. My lord is dead. Edmond and I have talked, And more convenient is he for my hand Than for your lady’s. You may gather more. If you do find him, pray you give him this, And when your mistress hears thus much from you, I pray desire her call her wisdom to her. So, fare you well. If you do chance to hear of that blind traitor, Preferment falls on him that cuts him off.
OSWALD	Would I could meet him, madam. I should show What party I do follow.
REGAN	Fare thee well.
(didascalia)	Exeunt severally

Speaker	Line
(didascalia)	Enter Edgar disguised as a peasant, with a staff, guiding the blind Duke of Gloucester
GLOUCESTER	When shall I come to th’ top of that same hill?
EDGAR	You do climb up it now. Look how we labour.
GLOUCESTER	Methinks the ground is even.
EDGAR	Horrible steep. Hark, do you hear the sea?
GLOUCESTER	No, truly.
EDGAR	Why, then your other senses grow imperfect By your eyes’ anguish.
GLOUCESTER	So may it be indeed. Methinks thy voice is altered, and thou speak’st In better phrase and matter than thou didst.
EDGAR	You’re much deceived. In nothing am I changed But in my garments.
GLOUCESTER	Methinks you’re better spoken.
EDGAR	Come on, sir, here’s the place. Stand still. How fearful And dizzy ‘tis to cast one’s eyes so low! The crows and choughs that wing the midway air Show scarce so gross as beetles. Halfway down Hangs one that gathers samphire, dreadful trade! Methinks he seems no bigger than his head. The fishermen that walk upon the beach Appear like mice, and yon tall anchoring barque Diminished to her cock, her cock a buoy Almost too small for sight. The murmuring surge That on th’unnumbered idle pebble chafes Cannot be heard so high. I’ll look no more, Lest my brain turn and the deficient sight Topple down headlong.
GLOUCESTER	Set me where you stand.
EDGAR	Give me your hand. You are now within a foot Of th’extreme verge. For all beneath the moon Would I not leap upright.
GLOUCESTER	Let go my hand. Here, friend, ’s another purse; in it a jewel Well worth a poor man’s taking. Fairies and gods Prosper it with thee! Go thou further off. Bid me farewell, and let me hear thee going.
EDGAR	Now fare ye well, good sir. He stands aside
GLOUCESTER	With all my heart.
EDGAR	(aside) Why I do trifle thus with his despair Is done to cure it.
GLOUCESTER	(keeling) O you mighty gods, This world I do renounce, and in your sights Shake patiently my great affliction off! If I could bear it longer, and not fall To quarrel with your great opposeless wills, My snuff and loathed part of nature should Burn itself out. If Edgar live, O bless him!— Now, fellow, fare thee well.
EDGAR	Gone, sir. Farewell. Gloucester falls forward (Aside) And yet I know not how conceit may rob The treasury of life, when life itself Yields to the theft. Had he been where he thought, By this had thought been past.—Alive or dead? (To Gloucester) Ho, you, sir, friend; hear you, sir? Speak. (Aside) Thus might he pass indeed. Yet he revives. (To Gloucester) What are you, sir?
GLOUCESTER	Away, and let me die.
EDGAR	Hadst thou been aught but gossamer, feathers, air, So many fathom down precipitating Thou‘dst shivered like an egg. But thou dost breathe, Hast heavy substance, bleed’st not, speak’st, art sound. Ten masts a-length make not the altitude Which thou hast perpendicularly fell. Thy life’s a miracle. Speak yet again.
GLOUCESTER	But have I fall’n, or no?
EDGAR	From the dread summit of this chalky bourn. Look up a-height. The shrill-gorged lark so far Cannot be seen or heard. Do but look up.
GLOUCESTER	Alack, I have no eyes. Is wretchedness deprived that benefit To end itself by death? ’Twas yet some comfort When misery could beguile the tyrant’s rage And frustrate his proud will.
EDGAR	Give me your arm. Up, so. How is’t? Feel you your legs? You stand.
GLOUCESTER	Too well, too well.
EDGAR	This is above all strangeness. Upon the crown o’th’ cliff what thing was that Which parted from you?
GLOUCESTER	A poor unfortunate beggar.
EDGAR	As I stood here below, methoughts his eyes Were two full moons. He had a thousand noses, Horns whelked and waved like the enraged sea. It was some fiend. Therefore, thou happy father, Think that the clearest gods, who make them honours Of men’s impossibilities, have preserved thee.
GLOUCESTER	I do remember now. Henceforth I’ll bear Affliction till it do cry out itself ‘Enough, enough,’ and die. That thing you speak of, I took it for a man. Often ‘twould say ‘The fiend, the fiend!’ He led me to that place.
EDGAR	Bear free and patient thoughts.
(didascalia)	Enter King Lear mad, crowned with weeds and flowers
EDGAR	But who comes here? The safer sense will ne’er accommodate His master thus.
LEAR	No, they cannot touch me for crying. I am the King himself.
EDGAR	O thou side-piercing sight!
LEAR	Nature’s above art in that respect. There’s your press-money. That fellow handles his bow like a crow-keeper. Draw me a clothier’s yard. Look, look, a mouse! Peace, peace, this piece of toasted cheese will do’t. There’s my gauntlet. I’ll prove it on a giant. Bring up the brown bills. O, well flown, bird, i‘th’ clout, i’th’ clout! Whew! Give the word.
EDGAR	Sweet marjoram.
LEAR	Pass.
GLOUCESTER	I know that voice.
LEAR	Ha! Goneril with a white beard? They flattered me like a dog, and told me I had the white hairs in my beard ere the black ones were there. To say ‘ay’ and ‘no’ to everything that I said ‘ay’ and ‘no’ to was no good divinity. When the rain came to wet me once, and the wind to make me chatter; when the thunder would not peace at my bidding, there I found ‘em, there I smelt ’em out. Go to, they are not men o’ their words. They told me I was everything; ’tis a lie, I am not ague-proof.
GLOUCESTER	The trick of that voice I do well remember. Is’t not the King?
LEAR	Ay, every inch a king.
(didascalia)	Gloucester kneels
LEAR	When I do stare, see how the subject quakes! I pardon that man’s life. What was thy cause? Adultery? Thou shalt not die. Die for adultery! No, the wren goes to‘t, and the small gilded fly Does lecher in my sight. Let copulation thrive, For Gloucester’s bastard son Was kinder to his father than my daughters Got ’tween the lawful sheets. To‘t, luxury, pell-mell, For I lack soldiers. Behold yon simp’ring dame, Whose face between her forks presages snow, That minces virtue, and does shake the head To hear of pleasure’s name. The fitchew nor the soilèd horse goes to’t With a more riotous appetite. Down from the waist They’re centaurs, though women all above. But to the girdle do the gods inherit; Beneath is all the fiend’s. There’s hell, there’s darkness, there is the sulphurous pit, burning, scalding, stench, consumption. Fie, fie, fie; pah, pah! Give me an ounce of civet, good apothecary, sweeten my imagination. There’s money for thee.
GLOUCESTER	O, let me kiss that hand!
LEAR	Let me wipe it first; it smells of mortality.
GLOUCESTER	O ruined piece of nature! This great world Shall so wear out to naught. Dost thou know me?
LEAR	I remember thine eyes well enough. Dost thou squiny at me? No, do thy worst, blind Cupid, I’ll not love. Read thou this challenge. Mark but the penning of it.
GLOUCESTER	Were all thy letters suns, I could not see.
EDGAR	(aside) I would not take this from report; it is, And my heart breaks at it.
LEAR	(to Gloucester) Read.
GLOUCESTER	What—with the case of eyes?
LEAR	O ho, are you there with me? No eyes in your head, nor no money in your purse? Your eyes are in a heavy case, your purse in a light; yet you see how this world goes.
GLOUCESTER	I see it feelingly.
LEAR	What, art mad? A man may see how this world goes with no eyes; look with thine ears. See how yon justice rails upon yon simple thief. Hark in thine ear: change places, and handy-dandy, which is the justice, which is the thief? Thou hast seen a farmer’s dog bark at a beggar?
GLOUCESTER	Ay, sir.
LEAR	An the creature run from the cur, there thou mightst behold the great image of authority. A dog’s obeyed in office. Thou rascal beadle, hold thy bloody hand. Why dost thou lash that whore? Strip thy own back. Thou hotly lusts to use her in that kind For which thou whip‘st her. The usurer hangs the cozener. Through tattered clothes great vices do appear; Robes and furred gowns hide all. Plate sin with gold, And the strong lance of justice hurtless breaks; Arm it in rags, a pygmy’s straw does pierce it. None does offend, none, I say none. I’ll able ’em. Take that of me, my friend, who have the power To seal th’accuser’s lips. Get thee glass eyes, And, like a scurvy politician, seem To see the things thou dost not. Now, now, now, now! Pull off my boots. Harder, harder! So.
EDGAR	(aside) O, matter and impertinency mixed—170 Reason in madness!
LEAR	If thou wilt weep my fortunes, take my eyes. I know thee well enough: thy name is Gloucester. Thou must be patient. We came crying hither. Thou know’st the first time that we smell the air We waul and cry. I will preach to thee. Mark.
GLOUCESTER	Alack, alack the day!
(didascalia)	LEAR removing his crown of weeds
GLOUCESTER	When we are born, we cry that we are come To this great stage of fools. This’ a good block. It were a delicate stratagem to shoe 180 A troop of horse with felt. I’ll put’t in proof, And when I have stol’n upon these son-in-laws, Then kill, kill, kill, kill, kill, kill!
(didascalia)	Enter two Gentlemen
(didascalia)	FIRSTGENTLEMAN
(didascalia)	O, here he is. Lay hand upon him. To LearSir,
GLOUCESTER	Your most dear daughter—
LEAR	No rescue? What, a prisoner? I am even The natural fool of fortune. Use me well. You shall have ransom. Let me have surgeons; I am cut to th’ brains.
(didascalia)	FIRSTGENTLEMAN You shall have anything.
LEAR	No seconds? All myself? Why, this would make a man a man of salt, To use his eyes for garden water-pots. I will die bravely, like a smug bridegroom. What, I will be jovial. Come, come, I am a king. Masters, know you that?
(didascalia)	FIRSTGENTLEMAN
LEAR	You are a royal one, and we obey you.
LEAR	Then there’s life in’t. Come, an you get it, you shall get it by running. Sa, sa, sa, sa!
(didascalia)	Exit running pursued by a Gentleman
(didascalia)	FIRSTGENTLEMAN
LEAR	A sight most pitiful in the meanest wretch, Past speaking in a king. Thou hast a daughter Who redeems nature from the general curse Which twain have brought her to.
EDGAR	Hail, gentle sir.
(didascalia)	FIRSTGENTLEMAN Sir, speed you. What’s your will?
EDGAR	Do you hear aught, sir, of a battle toward?
(didascalia)	FIRST+GENTLEMAN
EDGAR	Most sure and vulgar, everyone hears that That can distinguish sound.
EDGAR	But, by your favour, How near’s the other army?
(didascalia)	FIRST GENTLEMAN,
EDGAR	Near and on speedy foot. The main descry Stands in the hourly thought.
EDGAR	I thank you, sir. That’s all.
(didascalia)	FIRSTGENTLEMAN
EDGAR	Though that the Queen on special cause is here, Her army is moved on.
EDGAR	I thank you, sir. Exit Gentleman
GLOUCESTER	You ever gentle gods, take my breath from me. Let not my worser spirit tempt me again To die before you please.
EDGAR	Well pray you, father.
GLOUCESTER	Now, good sir, what are you?
EDGAR	A most poor man, made tame to fortune’s blows, Who by the art of known and feeling sorrows Am pregnant to good pity. Give me your hand, I’ll lead you to some biding.
(didascalia)	GLOUCESTER rising
EDGAR	Hearty thanks. The bounty and the benison of heaven To boot and boot.
(didascalia)	Enter Oswald the steward
OSWALD	A proclaimed prize! Most happy! That eyeless head of thine was first framed flesh To raise my fortunes. Thou old unhappy traitor, Briefly thyself remember. The sword is out That must destroy thee.
GLOUCESTER	Now let thy friendly hand Put strength enough to’t.
OSWALD	(to Edgar) Wherefore, bold peasant, Durst thou support a published traitor? Hence, Lest that th’infection of his fortune take Like hold on thee. Let go his arm.
EDGAR	‘Chill not let go, sir, without vurther ’cagion.
OSWALD	Let go, slave, or thou diest.
EDGAR	Good gentleman, go your gate, and let poor volk pass. An ‘chud ha’ been swaggered out of my life, ’twould not ha’ been so long as ‘tis by a vortnight. Nay, come not near th’old man. Keep out, ‘che vor’ ye, or I’s’ try whether your costard or my baton be the harder; I’ll be plain with you.
OSWALD	Out, dunghill!
EDGAR	’Chill pick your teeth, sir. Come, no matter vor your foins.
(didascalia)	Edgar knocks him down
OSWALD	Slave, thou hast slain me. Villain, take my purse. If ever thou wilt thrive, bury my body, And give the letters which thou find’st about me To Edmond, Earl of Gloucester. Seek him out Upon the English party. O untimely death! Death! He dies
EDGAR	I know thee well—a serviceable villain, As duteous to the vices of thy mistress As badness would desire.
GLOUCESTER	What, is he dead?
EDGAR	Sit you down, father. Rest you. Gloucester sits Let’s see these pockets. The letters that he speaks of May be my friends. He’s dead; I am only sorrow He had no other deathsman. Let us see. Leave, gentle wax, and manners; blame us not. To know our enemies’ minds we rip their hearts; Their papers is more lawful. He reads the letter ’Let our reciprocal vows be remembered. You have many opportunities to cut him off. If your will want not, time and place will be fruitfully offered. There is nothing done if he return the conqueror; then am I the prisoner, and his bed my jail, from the loathed warmth whereof, deliver me, and supply the place for your labour. Your—wife, so I would say,—affectionate servant, and for you her own for venture, Goneril.’ O indistinguished space of woman’s will— A plot upon her virtuous husband’s life, And the exchange my brother!—Here in the sands Thee I’ll rake up, the post unsanctified Of murderous lechers, and in the mature time With this ungracious paper strike the sight Of the death-practised Duke. For him ’tis well That of thy death and business I can tell.
(didascalia)	Exit with the body
GLOUCESTER	The King is mad. How stiff is my vile sense, That I stand up and have ingenious feeling Of my huge sorrows! Better I were distraught, So should my thoughts be severed from my griefs,
(didascalia)	Drum afar off
GLOUCESTER	And woes by wrong imaginations lose The knowledge of themselves.
(didascalia)	Enter Edgar
EDGAR	Give me your hand. Far off methinks I hear the beaten drum. Come, father, I’ll bestow you with a friend.
(didascalia)	Exit Edgar guiding Gloucester
(didascalia)	4.6 Enter Queen Cordelia, the Earl of Kent disguised, and the First Gentleman
CORDELIA	O thou good Kent, how shall I live and work To match thy goodness? My life will be too short, And every measure fail me.
KENT	To be acknowledged, madam, is o’erpaid. All my reports go with the modest truth, Nor more, nor clipped, but so.
CORDELIA	Be better suited. These weeds are memories of those worser hours. I prithee put them off.
KENT	Pardon, dear madam. Yet to be known shortens my made intent. My boon I make it that you know me not Till time and I think meet.
CORDELIA	Then be’t so, my good lord.— How does the King?
(didascalia)	FIRSTGENTLEMAN Madam, sleeps still.
CORDELIA	O you kind gods, Cure this great breach in his abused nature; Th’untuned and jarring senses O wind up Of this child-changed father!
(didascalia)	FIRSTGENTLEMAN
CORDELIA	So please your majesty That we may wake the King? He hath slept long.
CORDELIA	Be governed by your knowledge, and proceed I’th’ sway of your own will. Is he arrayed?
(didascalia)	FIRSTGENTLEMAN
CORDELIA	Ay, madam. In the heaviness of sleep We put fresh garments on him.
(didascalia)	Enter King Lear asleep, in a chair carried by servants
CORDELIA	Be by, good madam, when we do awake him. I doubt not of his temperance.
CORDELIA	O my dear father, restoration hang Thy medicine on my lips, and let this kiss Repair those violent harms that my two sisters Have in thy reverence made!
KENT	Kind and dear princess!
CORDELIA	Had you not been their father, these white flakes Did challenge pity of them. Was this a face To be opposed against the warring winds? Mine enemy’s dog, though he had bit me, should have stood That night against my fire. And wast thou fain, poor father, To hovel thee with swine and rogues forlorn In short and musty straw? Alack, alack, ’Tis wonder that thy life and wits at once Had not concluded all! (To the Gentleman) He wakes. Speak to him.
(didascalia)	FIRSTGENTLEMAN Madam, do you; ’tis fittest.
CORDELIA	(to Lear) How does my royal lord? How fares your majesty?
LEAR	You do me wrong to take me out o’th’ grave. Thou art a soul in bliss, but I am bound Upon a wheel of fire, that mine own tears Do scald like molten lead.
CORDELIA	Sir, do you know me?
LEAR	You are a spirit, I know. Where did you die?
CORDELIA	(to the Gentleman) Still, still far wide!
(didascalia)	FIRST GENTLEMAN
CORDELIA	He’s scarce awake. Let him alone a while.
LEAR	Where have I been? Where am I? Fair daylight? I am mightily abused. I should ev’n die with pity To see another thus. I know not what to say. I will not swear these are my hands. Let’s see: I feel this pin prick. Would I were assured Of my condition.
CORDELIA	(kneeling) O look upon me, sir, And hold your hands in benediction o’er me. You must not kneel.
LEAR	Pray do not mock. I am a very foolish, fond old man, Fourscore and upward, Not an hour more nor less; and to deal plainly, I fear I am not in my perfect mind. Methinks I should know you, and know this man; Yet I am doubtful, for I am mainly ignorant What place this is; and all the skill I have Remembers not these garments; nor I know not Where I did lodge last night. Do not laugh at me, For as I am a man, I think this lady To be my child, Cordelia.
CORDELIA	And so I am, I am.
LEAR	Be your tears wet? Yes, faith. I pray, weep not. If you have poison for me, I will drink it. I know you do not love me; for your sisters Have, as I do remember, done me wrong. You have some cause; they have not.
CORDELIA	No cause, no cause.
LEAR	Am I in France?
KENT	In your own kingdom, sir.
LEAR	Do not abuse me.
(didascalia)	FIRSTGENTLEMAN
LEAR	Be comforted, good madam. The great rage You see is killed in him. Desire him to go in. Trouble him no more till further settling.
CORDELIA	(to Lear) Will’t please your highness walk?
LEAR	You must bear with me. Pray you now, forget And forgive. I am old and foolish.
(didascalia)	Exeunt
LEAR	5.1 Enter with a drummer and colours Edmond, Regan, Gentlemen, and soldiers
EDMOND	Know of the Duke if his last purpose hold, Or whether since he is advised by aught To change the course. He’s full of abdication And self-reproving. Bring his constant pleasure.
(didascalia)	Exit one or more
REGAN	Our sister’s man is certainly miscarried.
EDMOND	’Tis to be doubted, madam.
REGAN	Now, sweet lord, You know the goodness I intend upon you. Tell me but truly—but then speak the truth- Do you not love my sister?
EDMOND	In honoured love.
REGAN	But have you never found my brother’s way To the forfended place?
EDMOND	No, by mine honour, madam.
REGAN	I never shall endure her. Dear my lord, Be not familiar with her.
EDMOND	Fear me not. She and the Duke her husband—
(didascalia)	Enter with a drummer and colours the Duke of Albany, Goneril, and soldiers
ALBANY	(to Regan) Our very loving sister, well bemet. (To Edmond) Sir, this I heard: the King is come to his daughter, With others whom the rigour of our state Forced to cry out.
REGAN	Why is this reasoned?
GONERIL	Combine together ’gainst the enemy; For these domestic and particular broils Are not the question here.
ALBANY	Let’s then determine with th’ensign of war On our proceeding.
REGAN	Sister, you’ll go with us?
GONERIL	No.
REGAN	’Tis most convenient. Pray go with us.
GONERIL	(aside) O ho, I know the riddle! (To Regan) I will go.
(didascalia)	Enter Edgar disguised as a peasant
EDGAR	(to Albany) If e’er your grace had speech with man so poor, Hear me one word.
ALBANY	(to the others) I’ll overtake you.
(didascalia)	Exeunt both the armies
ALBANY	Speak.
EDGAR	Before you fight the battle, ope this letter. If you have victory, let the trumpet sound For him that brought it. Wretched though I seem, I can produce a champion that will prove What is avouchèd there. If you miscarry, Your business of the world hath so an end, And machination ceases. Fortune love you.
ALBANY	Stay till I have read the letter.
EDGAR	I was forbid it. When time shall serve, let but the herald cry, And I’ll appear again.
ALBANY	Why, fare thee well. I will o’erlook thy paper.
(didascalia)	Exit Edgar
(didascalia)	Enter Edmond
EDMOND	The enemy’s in view; draw up your powers.
(didascalia)	He offersAlbany a paper
EDMOND	Here is the guess of their true strength and forces By diligent discovery; but your haste Is now urged on you.
ALBANY	We will greet the time.
(didascalia)	Exit
EDMOND	To both these sisters have I sworn my love, Each jealous of the other as the stung Are of the adder. Which of them shall I take?— Both?—one?—or neither? Neither can be enjoyed If both remain alive. To take the widow Exasperates, makes mad, her sister Goneril, And hardly shall I carry out my side, Her husband being alive. Now then, we’ll use His countenance for the battle, which being done, Let her who would be rid of him devise His speedy taking off. As for the mercy Which he intends to Lear and to Cordelia, The battle done, and they within our power, Shall never see his pardon; for my state Stands on me to defend, not to debate.
(didascalia)	Exit

Speaker	Line
(didascalia)	Alarum within. Enter with a drummer and colours King Lear, Queen Cordelia, and soldiers over the stage; and exeunt. Enter Edgar disguised as a peasant, guiding the blind Duke of Gloucester
EDGAR	Here, father, take the shadow of this tree For your good host; pray that the right may thrive. If ever I return to you again I’ll bring you comfort.
GLOUCESTER	Grace go with you, sir.
(didascalia)	Exit Edgar
(didascalia)	Alarum and retreat within. Enter Edgar
EDGAR	Away, old man. Give me thy hand. Away. King Lear hath lost, he and his daughter ta’en. Give me thy hand. Come on.
GLOUCESTER	No further, sir. A man may rot even here.
EDGAR	What, in ill thoughts again? Men must endure Their going hence even as their coming hither. Ripeness is all. Come on.
GLOUCESTER	And that’s true, too.
(didascalia)	Exit Edgar guiding Gloucester

Speaker	Line
(didascalia)	Enter in conquest with a drummer and colours Edmond; King Lear and Queen Cordelia as prisoners; soldiers; a Captain
EDMOND	Some officers take them away. Good guard Until their greater pleasures first be known That are to censure them.
CORDELIA	(to Lear) We are not the first Who with best meaning have incurred the worst. For thee, oppressed King, I am cast down, Myself could else outfrown false fortune’s frown. Shall we not see these daughters and these sisters?
LEAR	No, no, no, no. Come, let’s away to prison. We two alone will sing like birds i’th’ cage. When thou dost ask me blessing, I’ll kneel down And ask of thee forgiveness; so we’ll live, And pray, and sing, and tell old tales, and laugh At gilded butterflies, and hear poor rogues Talk of court news, and we’ll talk with them too— Who loses and who wins, who’s in, who’s out, And take upon ’s the mystery of things As if we were God’s spies; and we’ll wear out In a walled prison packs and sects of great ones That ebb and flow by th’ moon.
EDMOND	(to soldiers) Take them away.
LEAR	Upon such sacrifices, my Cordelia, The gods themselves throw incense. Have I caught thee? He that parts us shall bring a brand from heaven And fire us hence like foxes. Wipe thine eyes. The goodyear shall devour them, flesh and fell, Ere they shall make us weep. We’ll see ’em starved first. Come. Exeunt all but Edmond and the Captain
EDMOND	Come hither, captain. Hark. Take thou this note. Go follow them to prison. One step I have advanced thee; if thou dost As this instructs thee, thou dost make thy way To noble fortunes. Know thou this: that men Are as the time is. To be tender-minded Does not become a sword. Thy great employment Will not bear question. Either say thou‘It do’t, Or thrive by other means.
CAPTAIN	I’ll do’t, my lord.
EDMOND	About it, and write ‘happy’ when thou’st done. Mark, I say, instantly, and carry it so As I have set it down.
(didascalia)	Exit the Captain
(didascalia)	Flourish. Enter the Duke of Albany, Goneril, Regan, drummer, trumpeter
EDMOND	and soldiers
ALBANY	Sir, you have showed today your valiant strain, And fortune led you well. You have the captives Who were the opposites of this day’s strife. I do require them of you, so to use them As we shall find their merits and our safety May equally determine.
EDMOND	Sir, I thought it fit To send the old and miserable King To some retention and appointed guard, Whose age had charms in it, whose title more, To pluck the common bosom on his side And turn our impressed lances in our eyes Which do command them. With him I sent the Queen, My reason all the same, and they are ready Tomorrow, or at further space, t’appear Where you shall hold your session.
ALBANY	Sir, by your patience, I hold you but a subject of this war, Not as a brother.
REGAN	That’s as we list to grace him. Methinks our pleasure might have been demanded Ere you had spoke so far. He led our powers, Bore the commission of my place and person, The which immediacy may well stand up And call itself your brother.
GONERIL	Not so hot. In his own grace he doth exalt himself More than in your addition.
REGAN	In my rights By me invested, he compeers the best.
ALBANY	That were the most if he should husband you.
REGAN	Jesters do oft prove prophets.
GONERIL	Holla, holla— That eye that told you so looked but asquint.
REGAN	Lady, I am not well, else I should answer From a full-flowing stomach. (To Edmond) General, Take thou my soldiers, prisoners, patrimony. Dispose of them, of me. The walls is thine. Witness the world that I create thee here My lord and master.
GONERIL	Mean you to enjoy him?
ALBANY	The let-alone lies not in your good will.
EDMOND	Nor in thine, lord.
ALBANY	Half-blooded fellow, yes.
REGAN	(to Edmond) Let the drum strike and prove my title thine.
ALBANY	Stay yet, hear reason. Edmond, I arrest thee On capital treason, and in thy attaint This gilded serpent. (To Regan) For your claim, fair sister, I bar it in the interest of my wife. ’Tis she is subcontracted to this lord, And I, her husband, contradict your banns. If you will marry, make your loves to me. My lady is bespoke.
GONERIL	An interlude!
ALBANY	Thou art armed, Gloucester. Let the trumpet sound. If none appear to prove upon thy person Thy heinous, manifest, and many treasons, There is my pledge.
(didascalia)	He
ALBANY	throws down a
(didascalia)	glove
ALBANY	I’ll make it on thy heart, Ere I taste bread, thou art in nothing less Than I have here proclaimed thee.
REGAN	Sick, O sick!
GONERIL	(aside) If not, I’ll ne’er trust medicine.
(didascalia)	EDMOND (to Albany, throwing down a glovel
GONERIL	There’s my exchange. What in the world he is That names me traitor, villain-like he lies. Call by the trumpet. He that dares, approach; On him, on you,—who not?—I will maintain My truth and honour firmly.
ALBANY	A herald, ho!
(didascalia)	Enter a Herald
ALBANY	(To Edmond) Trust to thy single virtue, for thy soldiers, All levied in my name, have in my name Took their discharge.
REGAN	My sickness grows upon me.
ALBANY	She is not well. Convey her to my tent.
(didascalia)	Exit one or more with Regan
ALBANY	Come hither, herald. Let the trumpet sound, And read out this. A trumpet sounds
HERALD	(reads) ‘If any man of quality or degree within the lists of the army will maintain upon Edmond, supposed Earl of Gloucester, that he is a manifold traitor, let him appear by the third sound of the trumpet. He is bold in his defence.’ First trumpet Again. Second trumpet Again. Third trumpet.
(didascalia)	Trumpet answers within. Enter Edgar, armed
ALBANY	(to the Herald) Ask him his purposes, why he appears Upon this call o’th’ trumpet.
HERALD	(to Edgar) What are you? Your name, your quality, and why you answer This present summons?
EDGAR	Know, my name is lost, By treason’s tooth bare-gnawn and canker-bit. Yet am I noble as the adversary I come to cope.
ALBANY	Which is that adversary?
EDGAR	What’s he that speaks for Edmond, Earl of Gloucester?
EDMOND	Himself. What sayst thou to him?
EDGAR	Draw thy sword, That if my speech offend a noble heart Thy arm may do thee justice. Here is mine. He draws his sword Behold, it is the privilege of mine honour, My oath, and my profession. I protest, Maugre thy strength, place, youth, and eminence, Despite thy victor-sword and fire-new fortune, Thy valour and thy heart, thou art a traitor, False to thy gods, thy brother, and thy father, Conspirant ‘gainst this high illustrious prince, And from th’extremest upward of thy head To the descent and dust below thy foot A most toad-spotted traitor. Say thou no, This sword, this arm, and my best spirits are bent To prove upon thy heart, whereto I speak, Thou liest.
EDMOND	In wisdom I should ask thy name, But since thy outside looks so fair and warlike, And that thy tongue some say of breeding breathes, What safe and nicely I might well demand By rule of knighthood I disdain and spurn. Back do I toss those treasons to thy head, With the hell-hated lie o’erwhelm thy heart, Which, for they yet glance by and scarcely bruise, This sword of mine shall give them instant way Where they shall rest for ever. Trumpets, speak!
(didascalia)	Alarums. They fight. Edmond is vanquished
(didascalia)	ALL
EDMOND	Save him, save him!
GONERIL	This is practice, Gloucester. By th’ law of arms thou wast not bound to answer An unknown opposite. Thou art not vanquished, But cozened and beguiled.
ALBANY	Shut your mouth, dame, Or with this paper shall I stopple it.
(didascalia)	To Edmond Hold, sir, thou worse than any name:
ALBANY	read thine own evil. (To Goneril) No tearing, lady. I perceive you know it.
GONERIL	Say if I do, the laws are mine, not thine. Who can arraign me for’t?
(didascalia)	Exit
ALBANY	Most monstrous!— O, know’st thou this paper?
EDMOND	Ask me not what I know.
ALBANY	Go after her. She’s desperate. Govern her.
(didascalia)	Exit one or more
EDMOND	What you have charged me with, that have I done, And more, much more. The time will bring it out. ‘Tis past, and so am I. (To Edgar) But what art thou, That hast this fortune on me? If thou’rt noble, I do forgive thee.
EDGAR	Let’s exchange charity. I am no less in blood than thou art, Edmond. If more, the more thou’st wronged me.
(didascalia)	He
EDGAR	takes off his
(didascalia)	helmet
EDGAR	My name is Edgar, and thy father’s son. The gods are just, and of our pleasant vices Make instruments to plague us. The dark and vicious place where thee he got Cost him his eyes.
EDMOND	Thou‘st spoken right. ’Tis true. The wheel is come full circle. I am here.
ALBANY	(to Edgar) Methought thy very gait did prophesy A royal nobleness. I must embrace thee. Let sorrow split my heart if ever I Did hate thee or thy father.
EDGAR	Worthy prince, I know’t.
ALBANY	Where have you hid yourself? How have you known the miseries of your father?
EDGAR	By nursing them, my lord. List a brief tale, And when ‘tis told, O that my heart would burst! The bloody proclamation to escape That followed me so near—O, our lives’ sweetness, That we the pain of death would hourly die Rather than die at once!—taught me to shift Into a madman’s rags, t’assume a semblance That very dogs disdained; and in this habit Met I my father with his bleeding rings, Their precious stones new-lost; became his guide, Led him, begged for him, saved him from despair; Never—O fault!—revealed myself unto him Until some half hour past, when I was armed. Not sure, though hoping, of this good success, I asked his blessing, and from first to last Told him our pilgrimage; but his flawed heart— Alack, too weak the conflict to support— ’Twixt two extremes of passion, joy and grief, Burst smilingly.
EDMOND	This speech of yours hath moved me, And shall perchance do good. But speak you on— You look as you had something more to say.
ALBANY	If there be more, more woeful, hold it in, For I am almost ready to dissolve, Hearing of this.
(didascalia)	Enter a Gentleman with a bloody knife
GENTLEMAN	Help, help, O help!
EDGAR	What kind of help?
ALBANY	Speak, man.
EDGAR	What means this bloody knife?
GENTLEMAN	’Tis hot, it smokes. It came even from the heart of—O, she’s dead!
ALBANY	Who dead? Speak, man.
GENTLEMAN	Your lady, sir, your lady; and her sister By her is poisoned. She confesses it.
EDMOND	I was contracted to them both; all three Now marry in an instant.
EDGAR	Here comes Kent.
(didascalia)	Enter the Earl of Kent as himself
ALBANY	Produce the bodies, be they alive or dead. Goneril’s and Regan’s bodies brought out This judgement of the heavens, that makes us tremble, Touches us not with pity.—O, is this he? (To Kent) The time will not allow the compliment Which very manners urges.
KENT	I am come To bid my king and master aye good night. Is he not here?
ALBANY	Great thing of us forgot!— Speak, Edmond; where’s the King, and where’s Cordelia?- Seest thou this object, Kent?
KENT	Alack, why thus?
EDMOND	Yet Edmond was beloved. The one the other poisoned for my sake, And after slew herself.
ALBANY	Even so.—Cover their faces.
EDMOND	I pant for life. Some good I mean to do, Despite of mine own nature. Quickly send, Be brief in it, to th’ castle; for my writ Is on the life of Lear and on Cordelia. Nay, send in time.
ALBANY	Run, run, O run!
EDGAR	To who, my lord?—Who has the office? Send Thy token of reprieve.
EDMOND	Well thought on! Take my sword. The captain, Give it the captain.
EDGAR	Haste thee for thy life.
(didascalia)	Exit the Gentleman
EDMOND	(to Albany) He hath commission from thy wife and me To hang Cordelia in the prison, and To lay the blame upon her own despair, That she fordid herself.
ALBANY	The gods defend her!—Bear him hence a while.
(didascalia)	Exeunt some with Edmond
(didascalia)	Enter King Lear with Queen Cordelia in his arms,
(didascalia)	followed by the Gentleman
LEAR	Howl, howl, howl, howl! O, you are men of stones. Had I your tongues and eyes, I’d use them so That heaven’s vault should crack. She’s gone for ever. I know when one is dead and when one lives. She’s dead as earth.
(didascalia)	He lays her down
LEAR	Lend me a looking-glass. If that her breath will mist or stain the stone, Why, then she lives.
KENT	Is this the promised end?
EDGAR	Or image of that horror?
ALBANY	Fall and cease.
LEAR	This feather stirs. She lives. If it be so, It is a chance which does redeem all sorrows That ever I have felt.
(didascalia)	KENT kneeling
LEAR	O, my good master!
LEAR	Prithee, away.
EDGAR	’Tis noble Kent, your friend.
LEAR	A plague upon you, murderers, traitors all. I might have saved her; now she’s gone for ever.- Cordelia, Cordelia: stay a little. Ha? What is’t thou sayst?—Her voice was ever soft, Gentle, and low, an excellent thing in woman.— I killed the slave that was a-hanging thee.
GENTLEMAN	’Tis true, my lords, he did.
LEAR	Did I not, fellow? I have seen the day with my good biting falchion I would have made them skip. I am old now, And these same crosses spoil me. (To Kent) Who are you? Mine eyes are not o’th’ best, I’ll tell you straight.
KENT	If fortune brag of two she loved and hated, One of them we behold.
LEAR	This’ a dull sight. Are you not Kent?
KENT	The same, your servant Kent. Where is your servant Caius?
LEAR	He’s a good fellow, I can tell you that. He’ll strike, and quickly too. He’s dead and rotten.
KENT	No, my good lord, I am the very man—
LEAR	I’ll see that straight.
KENT	That from your first of difference and decay Have followed your sad steps.
LEAR	You’re welcome hither.
KENT	Nor no man else. All’s cheerless, dark, and deadly. Your eldest daughters have fordone themselves, And desperately are dead.
LEAR	Ay, so think I.
ALBANY	He knows not what he says; and vain is it That we present us to him.
(didascalia)	Enter a Messenger
EDGAR	Very bootless.
MESSENGER	(to Albany) Edmond is dead, my lord.
ALBANY	That’s but a trifle here.— You lords and noble friends, know our intent. What comfort to this great decay may come Shall be applied; for us, we will resign During the life of this old majesty To him our absolute power; (To Edgar and Kent) you to your rights, With boot and such addition as your honours Have more than merited. All friends shall taste The wages of their virtue, and all foes The cup of their deservings.—O see, see!
LEAR	And my poor fool is hanged. No, no, no life? Why should a dog, a horse, a rat have life, And thou no breath at all? Thou’lt come no more. Never, never, never, never, never.
(didascalia)	To Kent Pray you, undo this button. Thank you, sir.
LEAR	Do you see this? Look on her. Look, her lips. Look there, look there. He dies
EDGAR	He faints. (To Lear) My lord, my lord!
(didascalia)	KENT to Lear
EDGAR	Break, heart, I prithee break.
EDGAR	(to Lear) Look up, my lord.
KENT	Vex not his ghost. O, let him pass. He hates him That would upon the rack of this tough world Stretch him out longer.
EDGAR	He is gone indeed.
KENT	The wonder is he hath endured so long. He but usurped his life.
ALBANY	Bear them from hence. Our present business Is general woe. (To Edgar and Kent) Friends of my soul, you twain Rule in this realm, and the gored state sustain.
KENT	I have a journey, sir, shortly to go: My master calls me; I must not say no.
EDGAR	The weight of this sad time we must obey, Speak what we feel, not what we ought to say. The oldest hath borne most. We that are young Shall never see so much, nor live so long.
(didascalia)	Exeunt with a dead march, carrying the bodies
OUR	first reference to Cymbeline is a note by the astrologer Simon Forman that he saw the play, probably not long before his death on 8 September 1611. He refers to the heroine as ‘Innogen’, and this name occurs in the sources; the form ‘Imogen’, found only in the Folio, appears to be a misprint. The play’s courtly tone, and the masque-like quality of, particularly, the episode (5.5.186.1-2) in which Jupiter ‘descends in thunder and lightning, sitting upon an eagle’ and ‘throws a thunderbolt’, suggests that as Shakespeare wrote he may have had in mind the audiences and the stage equipment of the Blackfriars theatre, which his company used from the autumn of 1609; and stylistic evidence places the play in about 1610-11. It was first printed in the 1623 Folio, as the last of the tragedies. In fact it is a tragicomedy, or a romance, telling a complex and implausible tale of events which cause the deaths of certain subsidiary characters (Cloten, and the Queen) and bring major characters (including the heroine, Innogen) close to death, but which are miraculously resolved in the reunions and reconciliations of the closing scene. Shakespeare’s plot reflects a wide range of reading. He took his title and setting from the name and reign of the legendary British king Cymbeline, or Cunobelinus, said to have reigned from 33 BC till shortly after the birth of Christ. Cymbeline is no chronicle history, but Shakespeare derived some ideas, and many of his characters’ names, from accounts of early British history in Holinshed’s Chronicles and elsewhere. Drawing partially, it seems, on an old play, The Rare Triumphs of Love and Fortune (acted 1582, printed 1589), he gives Cymbeline a daughter, Innogen, and a wicked second Queen with a loutish, vicious son, Cloten, whom she wishes to see on the throne in her husband’s place. Cymbeline, disapproving of his daughter’s marriage to ‘a poor but worthy gentleman’, Posthumus Leonatus, banishes him. The strand of plot showing the outcome of a wager that Posthumus, in Rome, lays on his wife’s chastity is indebted, directly or indirectly, to Boccaccio’s Decameron. Another old play, Sir Clyomon and Clamydes (printed in 1599), may have suggested the bizarre scene (4.2) in which Innogen mistakes Cloten’s headless body for that of Posthumus; and IIolinshed’s Ilistory of Scotland supplied the episode in which Cymbeline’s two sons, Guiderius and Arviragus, helped only by the old man (Belarius) who has brought them up in the wilds of Wales, defeat the entire Roman army. The tone of Cymbeline has puzzled commentators. Its prose and verse style is frequently ornate, sometimes grotesque. Its characterization often seems deliberately artificial. Extremes are violently juxtaposed, most daringly when Innogen, supposed dead, is laid beside Cloten’s headless body: the beauty of the verse in which she is mourned, and of the flowers strewn over the bodies, contrasts with the hideous spectacle of the headless corpse; her waking speech is one of Shakespeare’s most thrillingly difficult challenges to his performers. The appearance of Jupiter lifts the action to a new level of even greater implausibility, preparing us for the extraordinary series of revelations by which the play advances to its impossibly happy ending. Cymbeline has been valued mostly for its portrayal of Innogen, ideal of womanhood to, especially, Victorian readers and theatre-goers. The play as a whole is a fantasy, an experimental exercise in virtuosity.
THE PERSONS OF THE	PLAY CYMBELINE, King of Britain Princess INNOGEN, his daughter, later disguised as a man named Fidele QUEEN, Cymbeline’s wife, Innogen’s stepmother Lord CLOTEN, her son BELARIUS, a banished lord, calling himself Morgan CORNELIUS, a physician HELEN, a lady attending on Innogen Two LORDS attending on Cloten Two GENTLEMEN Two British CAPTAINS Two JAILERS
POSTHUMUS	Leonatus, a poor gentleman, Innogen’s husband PISANIO, his servant FILARIO, a friend of Posthumus Caius LUCIUS, ambassador from Rome, later General of the Roman forces Two Roman SENATORS Roman TRIBUNES A Roman CAPTAIN Philharmonus, a SOOTHSAYER
JUPITER	Ghost of SICILIUS Leonatus, father of Posthumus Ghost of the MOTHER of Posthumus Ghosts of the BROTHERS of Posthumus Lords attending on Cymbeline, ladies attending on the Queen, musicians attending on Cloten, messengers, soldiers